Emberflame Ridge under the black light

It was easy for Menta to take note that the thick forest was beloved by lightning, the charred trees standing out less and less the more she passed. The rain that flecked her body could be described as a sprinkle as far as she was concerned, only sporatic drops that didn't puncture past her top coat and easily blinked away. She was confident in her safety from any sort of punishment these struck trees had faced or a wet chill - much preferable, if she had to choose between the two - but she was hungry.

It had been too long that the cream wolf had been wandering around without the help of a pack or even real friend to chase anything substatial, and it quickly became apparent that this region wasn't exactly generous with its bounty. Menta knew that her days as a lone wolf needed to be numbered if she didn't want her life to flicker out with whatever curse had been cast over the herds and herbivores, but for the moment she hadn't quite picked up on the appropriate pack smell.

First things first - an immediate need for food pressed back on her grumpy brain, pushing aside thoughts and faint smells of wolves who had passed through here for undoubtedly the same reasons. Menta walked slowly, trying to not to expend too much energy until a chase deemed it necessary, her eyes and ears darting and searching out for signs of some sort of small prey.