Lost Creek Hollow make it last, make it count

Wolves. The smell of them became ever more apparent the further she traveled. Sofi was a stranger to wolves. She had come from the west, where wolf numbers were sparse at best. The dip between the Cascades and the Rockies was fertile coyote turf. Where wolves had once roamed, her kind had taken over.

Sofi had come thinking the Teekon Wilds were a paradise. On the poetic rumors of an owl, her feet had blistered and she had starved to reach this place.

There she stood on what reeked of wolf urine. She wondered whether to proceed and try to slip through undetected. Curiosity pulled her senses forward and she listened hard for the legendary howls and snarls of beasts she had never seen before. Instinct told her that following trails of wolf scent was a bad idea, and hairs started to stand on the back of her neck before she knew what she was doing. Snow was sticking to her; she shivered.

Up ahead, she saw it. A great beast. Twice, maybe thrice her size. Blue eyes, unlike the gold of stories passed down to her. 

Her ears went back and she pulled herself into a tiny shape, half crouched to look small, ready to spring into a run if needed.