The Bracken Woods there is no other word for spirit

It was the law of the wild animal to resist change, to hold on to the safety and the security of what was known; but above that, there was the law to never stop moving ahead, to carry forward lessons but to not look back, and to do what was necessary to further life. So, while the silver and sable she-wolf had allowed herself the chance the mourn, she left behind the dead just as quick as she left her former home when it became apparent that remaining threatened her survival.

Her path was winding and tireless, calling upon all the stamina and endurance her ancestors had sewn into her species. For three moons she barely rested, and it showed in the thinness of her body. But at last, she have travelled far enough that the scent of man and their dogs ceased to exist, and it had been weeks since she heard the baying of hounds at her heels. She was not quick to let her guard down, and yet, as she entered a sprawling tract of stately trees, she felt that she was safe.

It was only mid afternoon, but the wild animal had no clock, and her legs bid her to rest. She scouted wide around a thicket, finding no fresh scent but that of rabbits. Satisfied, she circled in place and bedded down, tucking her sable legs and curling her tail until she was not but an inconspicuous shape amid the shadows of the brush. Her head remained aloft for a while but soon she laid her chin on the melting snow and dozed, but always with one eye and one ear open.