Northstar Vale boogie woogie down with your funky feet

Saena was nearly always on edge since the pack's encounter with the interloping Jackrabbit. While she couldn't imagine resuming a life where the pack was spread out to all corners of the territory with only chance encounters after this far more rewarding lifestyle, she warred with the indignation boiling in her gut. One thing was for sure: there would be no more miss nice Saena in the pack's hunting range.

The pack was traveling, but they came to a stop when Saena chanced a glance over her shoulder and spotted, from the top of a hillock, a stormy creature traipsing through the trough in the hills below. She swung around and her gait turned into a march as two pack members flanked her, but it was Dagfinn who beat her to the punch. The playful yearling came out of nowhere and was down the hill and in front of Dragon almost a minute before Saena even got there, but it was all right, because Dagfinn's sprightly attitude took the edge off things.

Nevertheless, Saena was no longer necessarily looking for wolves for Duskvale's tribe and had recent reason to be very judgmental of outsiders, so her actions were direct and not exactly welcoming. While Dagfinn reached for the bone with a pawing motion, Saena barged right into Dragon's space with her coat fluffed up, lips pulled tight into a disapproving pinch, and her ears erect, grabbed the end of it with a growl, and gave it a sharp yank as if to steal it away. Mine.