Blacktail Deer Plateau the shadows go like ghosts across your road

Tonravik moved slowly. In the rain it was difficult to pick up scent markers, and so she took great care in minding herself. It was not enough. In the distance, a wolf—whose injuries she could not see or smell, yet—appeared, pushing past the dreary grey mist that rolled around them. Tonravik behaved accordingly, her ears flattening atop her head defensively and her tail lax between her legs. She was a wolf; she was not exempt from instinct or its law for how great she thought she was. Tonravik was a slave to the way of the wild. As of yet, she did not recognize the figure. And the woman did not shift, to enable the others approach if they wished it. If the other was too territorial, she would go; skirmishes over things she did not desire were a terrible waste.