Otatso Wetlands does she wanna get it all back?

Lulz, my matching length was unintentional. Yay, inspiration?!

Magpie shook the excess water from her fur, crystalline droplets flung out into the open. In the heat, the dampness was a welcome reprieve, though the sun would make quick work of that, too. Feeling multitudes better after her bath, the juvenile set to considering her next (and more pressing) issue — she had only just begun to learn how to hunt for herself, and while capable of taking down smaller prey, such small game would not sustain her for long. If she could not find the Corvidae, she would need to find shelter elsewhere.

Although she had just drank her fill, that particular thought made her mouth go dry. She had been raised to believe that outsiders were dangerous and unpredictable; they were not as forgiving to strangers as the Corvidae were. It was likely she would die if she attempted to join one of the non-migratory packs in the area, but she was certain to die if she did not. I'm not scared to die, Magpie adamantly told herself, I'm just not ready to join my ancestors. It was that thought that drove her to begin scenting out a pack, but she was not prepared for one to find her first.

As the reddish wolf approached, Magpie stiffened as every instinct told her to run; if this was a pack wolf, the pack would not be far. Without a single Corvidae alongside her, the juvenile knew she was at a distinct disadvantage. "Ancestors protect me," she whispered on inhale, posture shrinking as she realized the other had seen her and intended to approach. She moved with confidence, her ears and tail alert. Although when she stopped, it was a length away, Magpie refused to relax; her posture sank lower, her eyes diverted, and her tail dropped between her legs. She was poised to run, and would, if the situation called for it.

Her eyes focused squarely on the ground, Magpie did not notice the mud clinging to the other's coat, nor the scars or wound on her chest. If she had, and especially if she had seen the blood at the corner of the stranger's muzzle, the juvenile surely would have run. Instead, the dark female was told all she needed to know from the other female's scent; the perfume of other wolves intermingled in her own, as did the particular scent of a river. An outsider. There was another scent, fainter, and metallic. Magpie's mouth watered unwillingly.

At the female's question, Magpie gave a cautious whine. I'm not a threat.