Noctisardor Bypass Let me out of here!

She'd kept her distance from the group after her last encounter, busying herself with hunting and learning the land. There was a deep tension within her when she thought of the pale wolves. She did not know if they would hold a grudge, if their brief encounter had marked her as a threat. The yearling had allowed no harm to befall the child, and had given her up without hesitation, but she had run, too. For many, that was reason enough for suspicion.
She was hardly a threat now, anyhow. The inkstain had become overconfident, and had paid the price. She moved slowly, dragging with her the hulking, freshly-dead form of a wolverine and sporting a nasty wound. The flesh of her left foreleg was dark and mangled, bleeding profusely and leaving a metallic trail as she neared her intended destination— a lake tucked between the rolling hills of the bypass, vast and crystalline. The thick scent of her own blood and the dizziness of the loss left her ignorant to the nearby presence of another, for now.
The wolverine was abandoned at the water's edge. She crept forward until her toes touched the edges of the water, gaze fixed on the surface and the sun's reflection across it. After several moments, she dipped her left paw into the water and lowered it slowly until her foreleg was submerged, teeth clenched to hold back a sharp gasp. Blood clouded the water, thick and dark. Her torn flesh protested at the feeling of cool water around and within the wound, so she sent her thoughts elsewhere; she'd need herbs, soon, lest she lose herself to infection of all things.