Ravensblood Forest the moon lives in the lining of your skin

Durnehviir's first few nights spent in Ravensblood Forest were uneventful, and she'd spent most of that time resting. Though she welcomed the comforting embrace and closeness of her swarthy companion, the crimson-tipped beauty had kept mostly to herself. She slept soundly through the evenings and into early morning, finally able to recharge her depleted energy sources.

On that particular day she hunted, and had woke before sunrise to prowl the darkened forest in search of a meal. She finally happened across a young weasel near the edge of the territory and claimed its life rather swiftly, before settling down to eat. Durnehviir had set about cleaning her bloodied paws and muzzle when she thought she heard voices, so paused to raise her head and scan the area with russet ears high atop her crown. Carefully, the tawny Frostfur rose slightly from her sphinx-like position and remained low enough to creep forward, keen to stay out of sight. 

From among the foliage and at a comfortable distance she observed a small group of wolves as they lingered on the woodland outskirts. She counted four, and listened intently as the apparent leader of the band announced that they would in fact go through despite the obvious fresh scent markings, not around. 

Frustration tugged her features into a frown, but Durnehviir did not step out to make herself known. Instead she remained still in her hiding place to await backup - at four against one, she'd be greatly outnumbered should she intercept. For now she would watch and wait, follow if need be, but it would be foolish of her to challenge these scouts by herself.