Jade Fern Grove Sometimes it burns

Paws of soft brown tip toed softly, softly through the frosty covered ground. Feathers fasted behind ears, swayed with the soft brush of the gentle wind. And golden eyes stared out into the far reaches of the forest. There wasn't much to be found for herbs, but Etienne could scent the small game that was lurking, there beneath the frosty covered leaves. They no longer crunched with Autumn's loud hunger. Instead, they gave way beneath his paws.

A soft sea shanty under his breath. Barely a whisper as he stalked. He would find something for the younglings to eat and play with. Kudos if he could catch it and keep it alive long enough for them to play. If not, well it would just be a snack.

The rest had been told to stay behind. Some her children, some dogs she had grown with, and family to her all the same. She would take the responsibility of scouting ahead, ensuring that the path was safe for the other's.

Nose to the ground, eyes sharp, she knew all too well of the larger canines in the area.

One stood what must be about eight metres ahead. The hound could tell from the strength of his scent, the soft voice speaking words unknown, and the pawsteps onto frost.

Her head lifted, eyeing the bushes until the slightest amount of movement was spotted.

Tail stood high, head tossing back to release a long and far too loud bark-howl. An alarm to those waiting for her.

There were strange scents in the wilds as of late. They were canine, but not wolfish and Etienne found it a little different. But he did not puzzle it out at first. Just accepted it as something new.

A strange sweeping sound reached his ears. Not wolfish, but similar. He froze and looked about him, golden eyes searching. Searing.

He straightened his back and his posture and he watched wary and unsure. This was a different creature than his counterparts.

She knows well that the other will have heard her, and Damsel feels no need to hide. Stalking forward until they are in her sights, her posture speaks clearly; 'do not come near'. She stands close enough to challenge, but far enough that a lunge from the stranger will not reach her.

You, wolf. More? Unbeknownst to Damsel, her speech was likely a bit jumbled to the other. Just as dogs did not often share the commonspeak of wolves, wolves rarely spoke the commonspeak of dogs. If it was not in your blood, it often was not something you learned.

She wished to know how many of the brutes lived in the area. Her band needed somewhere to settle, somewhere they could have peace. The fewer wolves the better.

He wrinkled his nose. The smell wafting his way. Was not unpleasant exactly, but it wasn't wolfish. It was different. He didn't know what to say or do. He thought these maybe the creatures called dogs. Which there was nothing entirely wrong with that. His granme had such parentage he was fairly certain in some way. But he could be remembering wrong. His lessons with her had not been long ones.

He nodded. Yes. He couldn't understand her exactly, but he could understand the word more. So he had to guess she meant more wolves? He hoped he was right, but wouldn't be surprised if he were wrong.

Eyes narrowed at the wolf's brief response. For a moment longer she stared as though piecing things together, but then turned away from him.

Paws carrying her back the way she had come from with an eye lingering on the wolf, nothing more would be said on her end.

Quickly she would take her leave. Scents of wolves were strong here, and it seemed that her suspicions had been correct. They would have to walk a bit further.