Blackfeather Woods i'm going on a dancehall tune

with victory in her jaws, astara swept down the root-studded path in triumphant strides. the stone, the very thing her dam often clutched tight to her breast, was now hers -- hers to admire, hers to bury or play or break; she felt a sensation of pride flush her, curtailed only by the sudden arrival of a she-wolf astara was faintly familiar with. faintly now being an understatement, as she had just collided with the wolf and was suddenly intimately familiar with her presence.

she stepped back and moved the rock round in her small jaws, her tongue favoring the flatness of its smooth features as she studied shivali and the thing clutched in her jaws. whatever it was, it was not prized like the stone and she quickly disregarded it with smugness. her assessment of the white wolf was truncated as a growl from her dam reached her ears -- she flattened them and jolted, bolting as fast as she could by shivali in a desperate attempt to put as much distance between her and her dam. no doubt relmyna had discovered her child's crime, and astara had no intentions of giving back the object that was now rightly hers.