Swiftcurrent Creek Olive Leaves

First two paragraphs are flavor text, but, uh, whatever.

Fox felt nearly back to normal, following the harrowing encounter with the cougar, and she was convinced that the last frost would be soon. Last night had been a cold one, but surely there could not be too many more before the earth decided it was time for warmth day-in and day-out. She had begun the day by stretching herself in the den, still laying on her side, pushing herself into Haunter as she did so. He groaned, and she countered this with a snort before rolling onto her stomach and exiting their little hole in the ground.

She spent several minutes grooming herself, licking and biting out whatever dirt and grime had gathered over the evening. A rustling in the bushes caused her attention to be redirected, and she investigated with mild curiosity. By the time she got there, whatever it was had either run off or flown away, for Fox could find nothing but the bushes themselves. Shrugging her shoulders, the yearling was about to seek out one of her pack-mates when the resounding howl came forth.

Now with a clear purpose, Fox jogged toward the source of the call. The distinct smell of a fresh kill was apparent as she drew closer, and the yearling licked her chops in anticipation. It seemed common for joiners seeking refuge to bring her a kill, and she had become rather fond of the tradition. And yet... this was clearly not a lost soul looking for a home. Fox bristled, though she kept her lips firmly over her teeth. The smell of Northstar Vale was thick upon the female who had the weasel at her feet. Suspicious, unwilling to make the first move, Fox stood several yards away and looked pointedly at the visitor.