Barrow Fields give me the bed of bloody arrows

Her blood flows quickly through her veins as adrenaline begins its surge, her speed steadily increasing. She does not care about whom hears her, or if prey is in her way. She has not come for those things, making her way easily over the terrain she’s grown familiar with over the past year, before they had anyone else settling in their backyard. The thought alone runs another burst of flames in her chest, hitting the grounder harder with each step.

Slowly, she begins the curve as if she’s going to make her way back but something catches from the corner of her eye. The sight of another sends her fur bristling. As she make the graceful turn around in a width berth, her speed picks up again. From such a distance, she can’t make out the figure and the scent has not traveled with the wind enough. It is easy to determine it is not a Drageda wolf and her direction she’s pointed makes her awfully suspicious to be that of her neighbor.

Something of a growl, low and muffled, stirs in her chest and she aims right for the stranger as if she were a lonely doe in the wrong place at the wrong time.