Bearclaw Valley moreau's golem

after returning, mona had seized a half-nap, stealing then off into the woodland to patrol. sleepily, she added her own scent here and there, even rearing to place her small forepaws against the boles of trees for a well-placed scratch or three. presently, the mayfair lengthened her stride. here the forest ridged up, ending in a stubby little promontory with a few tufts of obstinate grass in the otherwise bare ground. mona chuckled to herself; a mischief flared in her and she struck a small pebble from the rise as hard as she could.
in the next moment she realized she was not alone; with horrified murkwater eyes, mona drew back, praying to whatever deity at hand that she would not kill someone with her stupidity today.