Emberwood We can live in a world that we design.

Her blackened ears snatched back to her head when the rufous she-wolf—now recognizable as a pack wolf, with the scents of numerous others suddenly detected fully on the breeze—bristled back at her. Two sides of Wylla warred inside herself: the age-old part of her that was used to living alone and watching her own back wanted to sink down and slink away; the newer part of her that had been the Alpha of a pack, albeit a terrible one, wanted to throw her head and pride to the sky and challenge this woman.
Luckily, the doubt and hurt nestled in her breast from Caiaphas' attempted digs and the disrespect she perceived from all her former pack mates overwhelmed her ego, and she lowered herself and cast her gaze to the ground.
"Where are you going?" grumbled Wylla, who really had nothing else to lose. She assumed that, like Lycaon, Ingram would sooner remain on the coast and she would be unwelcome to see them again. Lusca was many miles to the north, and Wylla wasn't sure what she'd even say to her dam if she saw her again. It had been more than half her life since then. She wasn't sure why she asked Durnehviir this; it just felt like the right thing to do, even though she was making a horrible first impression.
And, in spite of Wylla's sustained lack of recognition, she had raided these wolves' territory.