Otter Creek i birth a betrayed nation i filled with hunted

He lazily marks the borders, not with blood or bones, but with his scent. He rubs against trees both dead and alive, spritzes in bushes, without a care in the world. It seemed like that at least.

He can see the woman in the distance as he weaves through the foliage. He watches her draw close to the borders, enough to sniff it. He is still, believing himself to be out of sight. She does not howl or linger any longer, instead swiftly leaving.

It is out of curiosity that he followed her. He supposed that many wolves have mirrored her movements before, but having seen her and only her, he trails after her. She makes her way to the Creek north of their borders, though still close enough for him to make this little venture.

When he approaches he chuffs, having no malice in his system at the moment. His tail raises slightly, but flops down just as quickly; the distance between the borders and the Creek is sufficiently long enough for it to be considered neutral territory.