Redhawk Caldera Mountains beyond mountains

The end-of-November air was still as she padded quietly along the grassy slopes beyond the foot of the mountain, but even so she keenly sensed the presence of the caldera’s wolves, and thus she was drawn. A muscle in her shoulder rippled its length when a nerve signalled an itch and she paused mid-stride, reaching sharply to nip at the thick, bladed fur there to quell the mild irritation before continuing forward. This itch, of course, being psychological symbolism for her very real plight: to find and settle into a pack before winter.
 
Originally, her sure-fire plan had been to scout for packs along the way and choose the one that struck her fancy, only she hadn’t found one that suited her tastes and there was most certainly a twinge of desperation setting deep into the corners of her mind by this point. She knew that she would eventually need to choose a pack based solely on proximity if she held out too long, not to mention the near absurdity of happening upon a leader who would extend the good graces of taking in a young stray just before the unforgiving season fell.
 
It was with that that she drew closer and closer to the musk-laden borders outlining the undeniably impressive volcano’s foot. She had hope in mind to strike an organic relationship with the wolves there, but she was also nearing on the verge of the panic that she felt would amount to asking them for a rank without first being sure of them. Her nerves didn’t play into the bright howl she sent up for their leaders, although her request was nearly cut short when her attention was quickly thereafter snapped up and consumed  by subtle movement in her peripheral vision: the very tips of a rabbit’s ears poking out of the ground several yards away.