Sunspire Mountains blood-waltz

The sound of a growl from behind her caused the woman to whirl around and emit a menacing snarl herself. The woman did not forget the enemy she might still have in the leftovers of the Plains. She had been told of their dispersing, but that did not mean none still lingered. One, perhaps more, might hold ire for (potentially) killing one of theirs. While she did not know the fate that had befallen the wolf she had brought down, she imagined that not many would look upon her favorably if they knew what to look for. Scent could offer no hint if one sought the Spire, specifically... and none other had known her to know her own distinguishable odor, except for the leader, the coyote, and the one beside him. If the woman was dead, that was one less.

But the other that looked upon her was a face she could not remember, nor one that matched the typical bearing of a wolf of the Plains. He smelled familiar, but in a different way. Her own hackles melted down to nothingness, and she approached him, curious. Her bearing was easy-going, now, any evidence that she had intended to attack him gone with the passing wind. She rounded him, keeping a comfortable distance despite desiring to invade his personal space and drink his scent dry. "A cub of Lasher's," she concluded, surveying him to see what he would reveal.