Greatwater Lake [Witty Title]

The wolf had no quarrel with the state of the land here; it was as he was used to: bare, sparse, and challenging. He had been forged in such hardship, born on sick land, where the ache and burn of hunger was the crack of a whip that spurred him on. It was in famine he had honed his craft that kept him sleek and fed enough. Little did he know how prosperous this area could be, how rich and fertile again it soon would be.

He stole quietly along the foot of the mountains, straddling the line between aimless and purposeful. He slowed as a single, attentive ear swung toward a sudden scream. It was some distance off, and he heard not the garbled words that had comprised the raucous tone. His tail swished idly, and slowly, he turned toward it. By the time another scream split the silence, the source had moved to the shores of a nearby lake.

He found her, sprawled and shaking, a wolf that was not quite a wolf. He knew not of dogs but knew when something was amiss. He could not place it, even as he drew near and siphoned her scent from the air, his predatory gaze resting upon her as his paws stilled several tails from her. He said nothing, and merely waited to see if she would rise, or if she was merely breathing flesh for the first to dare to take it.