Porcupine Ridge The silver of a lake at night

Maybe @Illea or @Novak since Farstep hasn't met them?

The wound nestled in the place where shoulder met neck pulled with each broad sweep of the adjoining limb. It did little to slow the wolf in his steadfast patrol, but served as a constant reminder of the danger in underestimating another. He'd allowed the young scent of his adversary to cloud his judgment and he was bitten for it. He wouldn't allow such a small wound to hinder him, but it was a tricky wound that evaded his ministrations by being just out of reach of a twist of his head.

So the fur matted there, caked with a thin layer of dried blood that pulled at the roots if he moved too vigorously. He swung his head to the right, lips twitching with discomfort, to survey the north-western peak. Beyond it he knew there was a sheer drop ending in a plateau that reached out over the lowlands, and he considered returning to that place momentarily to seek some rest, but knew his place to be here, with his pack.

He twitched his slender ears back and pressed on along the well-laid borders.