The Bracken Woods Apathy

Hunting with a wolf not of her own kind in Seageda didn’t often occur, for those in her coalition even of another clan, would benefit one another. The canine a few short steps to her side smelled of no others and there were no other packs nearby that she rules other than her own. Her own were several weeks of travel away and the thought of going back any time soon lays waste with her history. Those that came together for their time in peace likely wanted little to do with her, even if a new heda would not arise until her death.  

The scent picked up a moment ago eludes her and her pace slows to decipher the direction it is strongest. The herd she’d startled some time back, before the woods, scattered in their fear. When she didn’t expect to search for them again, sure they were long gone and too far separated for her to shepherd them back toward Drageda. A second hand, even if they bring one down, might be enough to scare their change in direction. She inhales sharply and holds it, letting her speed pick back up as she notes  a few broken branches and tufts of fur nagged in a frenzy and left behind. Her mouth waters and her tongue swells, eager for something on her stomach once more. 

Thuringwethil chuffs her command before she turns, fawn coloring catching her gaze that rips her attention from her companion. She stiffens and lifts her head, unable to keep heda’s posture from taking over in expectation. Her chest heaves with a deep breath of excitement, their horizon laid out before them with the promise of feast.