Blackfeather Woods waiting on the edge of night

how very interesting was this place. such a great contrast to the little herd of sheep she had set her sight on, this place reeked of blood and of a darkness that seeped betwixt the trees. the very borders were marked with blood and urine and dead things, the hip of one such thing she nosed now. she straightened, peering into the trees with guarded amber orbs, waiting and wondering what kind of things lived within the wood, and how often they patrolled their borders. 

she did not call, she did not venture close to the line of blood, keeping a few tail lengths between her and it, not wanting to ignite the anger of the creatures that marked their borders thus. she was hardly stupid.