Redhawk Caldera The jig is up, the news is out

She could still taste the elk's blood on her lips. It tasted like womanhood (erg, not the period kind). Last night's hunt was one of the final milestones on the path to adulthood and Wildfire had never felt more grown up. But there was a limit to the pleasure she could take in the experience. Finley hadn't been there. Her godmother still hadn't been found. The youth could tell that the pack was on the verge of giving up hope.

Well, she wouldn't stop looking. At the very least, she would make another sweep before accepting her aunt's fate. Sure, her paw was still bothering her somewhat and walking endlessly was just about the last thing she should do, yet the Outrider didn't care. Nourished by the blood of one of her first major kills and filled with a sense of familial duty, she headed energetically toward the borders, favoring her bad paw slightly.

She found someone waiting there. Wildfire paused perhaps half a mile away and squinted at the figure, watching as it raised its head and issued a howl. The voice was feminine... and familiar. Roz? Wildfire thought, head tilting as she began to jog in the she-wolf's direction. She was no Warden but, well, she was close by and she knew this wolf.

"Roz? What brings you here?" the juvenile wondered as she drew nearer, black tail arched but only slightly and ears pricked forward expectantly.