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

As much as she hated to admit it, the days were getting shorter and with that, the shadows longer. Even at noon, her shadow stretched out from beneath her as though trying to escape her slender figure when it should have bathed only her paws in shade. Now, as evening pulled the light from the sky, her shadow stretched far bahind her, leaning back in an odd shape that made her long, slender legs look like something from a Dali painting. 

She caught sight of the loner she'd scented earlier; a husky, dark-pelted fellow, who was shorter than she was, but far more solid in build. Where she was light and willowy, he was compact and heavy; the kind of wolf who could easily overpower her if she ever ended up pinned. A match between them could have been likened to a match between a cheetah and a bear; while Niamh had speed on her side, she knew it wouldn't lend her much of a hand against a foe who had such a strong build. 

But there was no reason to think about that, aside from basic survival instincts- as he gave her a warm smile, which was returned. As much as Niamh thought of herself as a fearless warrior, she would never have chosen this fellow as an opponent willingly- and knew better than to put on too much bravado. Instead, she shifted into a much lighter mode, bearing a much friendlier countenance than she might have had she come upon someone she knew she could take.