Cedar Sweep i was born a shot-gun in my hands

The fae had not been with the pack more than a week, and tended to explore far more than her other pack members. She prowled along the underbrush of the dark forest, avoiding the tick-laden tall grasses if she could. She lifted her ivory muzzle into the wind, a familiar scent wafting through the air. Catching the scent of the pack outside of the bounds was uncommon enough out here that she faltered.

Shaking her head lightly, she pranced towards the scent. It was near the bend in the river that she nearly lost the scent as she crossed through the shallow waters. Upon exiting, she promtly shook her creamy pelt before coming to a dead stop. Down the river was a child, the source of her pack's scent. She chuffed lightly, not wanting to scare the boy, and padded nearer.