Boartusk Heights I'm lucky I'm not a vampire

After being confined to the webbed darkness of the caverns the majority of her life, the view before the unruly wench was utterly breath-taking. Through her fiery yellow pools, her gaze danced upon the various tints and shades of green, pausing for a few heartbeats to settle upon a glistening sheet of slate blue that glinted in the evening light. In all honesty, she was sick of travelling over bare rock; her pads, although used to the rough terrain, were cut and swollen, emitting a dry heat and throbbing in dull pain. Wrenching her gaze away from the spectacle, she nosed her forepaw, her incisors nibbling gingerly at the raw skin as she drew her tongue over the redness. The pain was blinding, like a hundred needle ants pricking at her skin, causing a low snarl to well up from the woman's throat.

Soft footfalls behind her caught her attention and she twisted her cranium to glare at the stranger, pricking her ears as his words reached her drums in a deep boom. "I could ask you the same question," she retorted, her voice a seething menace from the hurt she had just endured. The anonymous canid was blurry, a seemingly shadowy figure against the pale sky. Something tugged inside her; a longing perhaps? With an inward growl she forced herself to resist the fact that she had missed the company of a fellow wolf during her days travelling alone.