Dragoncrest Cliffs To hang your hopes on

She’d been following the raccoon for several minutes now, weaving in and out of the redwoods. Sometimes it would scamper off a little faster than she’s willing to keep up with (moving too fast may scare him sooner) but she keeps up at a steady speed, following the fresh scent and tracks in the snow. On the wind brings a new scent, something definitely not raccoon, and her ears fall back upon her head. Thuringwethil’s scent is mingled in enough that she doesn’t launch into full on threat—recently feeling the need to toughen up—but she does stand her ground.
 
Just when she’s about to advance closer to another wolf, the raccoon’s is mixed heavily with it and she groans, knowing she’s about to lose her prey. She huffs to herself but keeps moving, just in time to see the raccoon turn back on a strange wolf and spit at him. It stops the other in his tracts, leaving him to stare blankly. The other hadn’t been hunting the raccoon, at least, but she hadn’t noticed him try to play with the rodent, either.
 
Furi chuffs lowly though her posture does not relax and her fur remains bristle, her already thick coat making her look taller, but when she swings her pale green eyes over and waits for him.