Wapun Meadow You sleep rather soundly for a murderer.

She lapped at the water's surface, the cool crystal liquid refreshing her dry throat and quenching the thirst she'd been ignoring since departing Swiftcurrent Creek. Her pale eyes closed as the cinnamon wolfess felt tension seep from her aching muscles as she lowered her haunches, and eventually slumped forward to lay on her belly by the stream's edge where she allowed herself to rest.

Durnehviir scooted forward enough that her pale toes were submerged in the running water, and she rumbled contently to herself. Her time in the Teekon those years ago had been short and her childhood troubled, yet the land itself still brought comfort. Propping her ivory chin atop an outstretched forelimb, Durnehviir gazed out over the water before her and at the meadow of vibrant flowers that seemed to go on forever. 

The tawny she-wolf was not expecting the fresh scent of another on the breeze and, almost as soon as she was able to relax, Durnehviir's anxiety bristled. Her golden eyes cracked open and she swung her head in the direction from which the wind had come, and found herself staring directly at a dark-furred male. The stranger did not approach, and nor did she make any move to go to him. Crimson ears perked curiously atop her lovely crown; this wolf was of a solid frame, with bold eyes kissed by fire and points of deepest obsidian. Durnehviir did not know why, but she was instantly intrigued.

She pulled herself onto her feet and turned toward the unknown brute, tail straight at her rear and swishing lightly in friendly greeting. Silence still remained until Durnehviir could gauge the male's reaction to this gesture, and although their eyes did not meet, she didn't let her own drift from his raven features.