Honeyed Pasture midnight coward

Midnight was as poor a time as any to hunt. A crescent moon provided little light, passing in and out of view as clouds coasted overhead. Muses briefly wondered when had she become such a night owl, but refused to dwell on it. There was no harm in keeping to herself, as long as she did not hinder others or let them down. Idly, she stood at Donnelaith's border, gazing out into the darkened plains. Although it was a strange land, she could immediately perceive that the sprawling meadows would make a good home for prey. Moose might be so inclined to migrate through the fields, though there were none that she could see.

A more motivated wolf might have decided to make a loop around the area, to keenly observe the hunting grounds while the world was so still, soundly asleep. Muses missed tracking prey with her sisters, learning how ungulates moved so that they could better predict where they might hide, or where they might run to.

Her ears flicked abruptly, picking up the distant hoot of an owl, perhaps some rustling in the forest behind her. Standing poised and elegant, the ivory wolf did not shift her stance. There would be nothing to hunt this close to wolf territory anyways. With a defeated chuff, she carried onward in a straight line, penetrating the honeyed pasture.