The Heartwood Why Did It Have to be Thunder?

As the sky bellowed and flashed with the raging storm, Ptarmigan loped swiftly through a tangle of green foliage and wilting dogwoods. The sky was dark, but streaks of brilliant white cut across it at regular intervals, spooking the petite wolf further into the trees. Her fur stood up rigidly on her spine, signalling her fear of the storm.

She sought shelter in the massive deciduous forest. Having lived much of her life in grasslands and plains, Ptarmigan wasn't well-versed in forest hiding places, and settled for a gnarled knot of roots at the base of an oak. She could scarcely fit, but managed to wedge her body between the roots... Only to come face-to-ass with its current owner, another canine looking very much like a coyote, but with the scent of her own breed.

Being of the larger predator species despite her small size, and being pure of blood at that with the full-blown instincts of her kind, Ptarmigan wrinkled back her lips and loosed a guttural snarl, hoping to scare the coywolf out of her hiding place so the Endore herself could occupy it.