Golden Glade Queen of Spades

And so the pale wraith moved onward, having cleansed the scent of her 'family' from her fur until she carried the scent of a loner, of wind and earth and canine. Confident in her ability to keep her Isle home a complete secret from others, she had decided to go a little further. No packs she had seen so far, the largest number of canines together she had seen had been a group of three scraggly coyotes, who she had left promptly alone. She was no longer the type to kill just for the fun of it, she had discovered.
Odd.

But now she had chanced upon the scent of wolves, a small group, like her own. She slowed her pace, slipping between maples like a phantom, hiding among the shadows. Had her coat been one of night, this would have been easier, but she was an adept spy, and was not seen immediately, it seemed. When she had reached a meadow, a break in the trees, she stepped from her hiding place, bending her muzzle to drink from one of the streams that rippled through the glade. Her movements were graceful, with an odd feline quality, and her lithe figure was but a ghost in the woods.