Deepwood Weald Lost without you

Maude had turned in circles, her anger clouding her mind as she tore through the emerald blades in her search to kill the little bastard who had marred her muzzle. In a stroke of luck (for her), she had turned in the direction of the clod, stone, whatever it was, seeing the coyote flee just in time. She ran after the dirt-smeared pelt, scarcely noticing if the object had met its mark (though it had narrowly missed her frame as she began running). Once again, the coyote fled into the forest, and Maude followed suit, saliva dripping in tendrils behind her.

It frustrated her, this mad dance from forest to grass to forest again. Madness was defined as doing the same thing over and over again expecting the same result, right? She didn't tie this quote to her own life, but her current situation. The ragged waif continued in the same direction, followed the coyote, but taking a slower pace now, her mind focused on the scent trail he was leaving. Chasing him proved unfruitful - he was too swift for her. Stalking would be her strategy now. It was a strategy she knew well, after all.