Phoenix Maplewood What's the time, Mr Wolf

preferrably an agressor to skirmish with :)

Morning dawned in silence. Not even the faint tweet of a bird could be heard; it seemed as though the falling of snow had quelled the once thriving valley into a land of ghosts. The golden figure was restless, the dulled silence an unnerving atmosphere to her chilled frame. She'd left Israel's side to venture farther into the wilds, mainly to feed her growing curiosity, but, so far, was not impressed.

She slipped into the shadows of a towering maple, green eyes scanning distainfully the dank forest underbrush. The snow was yet to fully coat the groundcover and grey light filtered down through the bare branches in suspicious patterns. Sinatra shiverred, nose to the ground to detect a riddling of scents that criss crossed this way and that. She followed them, pelt pricking, and pictured the scene in her minds eye; the struggling doe and the wolves' snarling power, an overwhelming force. The deer wouldn't have stood a chance.

The former Dezba found her prize nestled in the rotting flesh of the carcass; the thigh of the slain beast. Perhaps she could give it to Israel.