Bonesplinter Ravine poetry is a way of taking life by the throat

Your writing is beautiful <3

Having spent the last few days either invested in patrolling or playing with the pups, Niamh took some time to herself to investigate the Hinterlands, moseying through the thicket and toward the more craggy, rugged landscape to suss out the movement of prey or activity of wolves in the area. Not long ago there had been whisperings that a new pack might form in the Hinterlands- and Niamh had personally investigated the claim, but it seemed for the moment that those rumours had been quieted. Perhaps her visit had instilled in them the will to found their pack elsewhere...She hadn't exactly been welcoming, after all, but she bore no shame in knowing she might have displaced a fledgeling pack. Instead, it gave her a feeling of pride that stoked her already well-nurtured ego. 

The evenings had begun to reflect the changing of the season, and the nights even more so; though she had yet to notice frost nipping at the leaves, or the changing of colours, she could feel the chill of autumn creeping in every time the sun set. Soon, her coat would thicken and darken slightly, taking on a darker hue of auburn to mingle with her present  coat of gold and cornsilk. A sudden shudder came over her, causing her to shake out her coat in a brief, satisfying twist, and she ran her tongue over her lips and nose so she could better scent the wind. There was another wolf in the area- that much she could tell; but he didn't smell as though he was entangled in the affairs of others, or committed to a pack. Possibly just another wolf passing through the area that would be of no concern to Niamh. Still, she kept her guard up as she passed through the ravine, aware that too much pride could be her downfall.