Otatso Wetlands the space between two worlds

The wind had not been on her side, and Muirrin's senses were filled with the scent of mud and the sight of dreary shadows and dim light; she attributed the sounds of the sucking mire to the fact that it was, well, a sucking mire. Only when the other female's form appeared from around one of the thick, drooping trees of the wetland did Muirrin realize she wasn't the only wolf attempting to navigate the territory. The other stilled, her expression one of curiosity. It was a feylike behavior, at least from the Blackthorn's perspective, and she stilled as well—her posture shifting to ensure that it would not be mistook as hostility or aggression.

With mud and foliage caught in her wild, dark fur, the other seemed fey indeed—but the scent she carried was firmly present, firmly wolf. Still, Muirrin could sense something of the otherworld in the stranger, and her own curiosity was piqued. Whoever the female was, it seemed she was a wolf worth knowing. The Blackthorn had learned not to question such things, and that her instinct to be too bold was not the best approach in these situations. And so she remained still, silent—allowing them both time to assess one another.

After several heartbeats had passed between them, Muirrin loosed a neutral and soft whuff of greeting.