Coconut Grove Wash him deep where the tides are turning

I started to reply to this on my phone the other day, but then it died and I lost the post and I got annoyed. :(

She couldn't say what continued to draw her back to the Wilds, except that perhaps she felt safe here— or, "safer", at least than when the she-wolf knew herself to be alone in the wilderness. Owl would never forget what it was to be hunted, and that knowledge influenced her every breath and every step. It always would; it was a shadowed echo that vibrated in her bones. It had become instinct. She could hear the death noises in every snapped twig, in every unexpected sound. But it was the Wilds that she trusted, for her brethren thrived here— and how could they, if they were hunted as she and her family had been?

Even so, her brethren were treacherous. If the two-legs and their boomsticks came to this place, the wolves would turn on each other to survive, and by having no blood-bonds to them, Owl knew she would be among the first sacrifices.

Still.

It would be safer still amongst a pack, if only she had the courage to integrate with one. So far, that had been too much for her nerves. She wandered aimlessly, only hoping to survive one more day— and then, the next. Owl exited the moors, not knowing how close she drew to the shore, not even knowing what a "shore" was. Before she reached the sands, the pale wolf halted, eyes trained upon the dark figures in the distance beneath the banners of the strangest trees she had ever seen.