Barrow Fields just one moment of peace, that would suit me so fine

For the first time in a series of many days, Lusca had managed to make a hairbreadth escape from the hostage situation that was Tachyon's company. While his awareness was encumbered by heavy sleep she stole away at first light, skulking on the sensible, whist soles of a doe as she sculpted her path towards the outermost retreats of Barrow Fields.

Thus far in her career as a lone wolf Lusca had endured a siege of hardships re nutrition. Crustaceans and small mammals were the best she could do for herself during the rigors of long-distance travel, however pickings were razor-thin for the unmighty wolf and the former menu item was indigenous to a region she did not care to make a repeat reconnaissance of. 

A ground-eating lope took the sable guttersnipe from one end of the plain to the other, the sepia tone of the environment complementing her drab mood as she prodded about. Riffling through the damp soil and thatches of fieldgrass, she was enticed by the opportunity of securing a meal for herself in the form of a vole or quail, flushed from their coverts by the cloudburst. 

Nose to the ground she tread against the grasses and a blend of smells stormed her nostrils, but the rain showers had diluted any distinguishing features and she couldn't isolate the scents of potential prey from the organic compounds in the terrain. With an impatient snort the wolfling mentally staked this area as unprofitable and swung down the timberline, hope of greater luck and uplifted spirits on the western territory clutching her gut.