Dragoncrest Cliffs i beg your parsley

@Antumbra

She is a very respectful distance from the western border of Drageda.

The sheepdog has been here before, but the when and the why are blurred and blotted. The memories of her exodus from Blackfeather Woods have been stirred and sifted together over time, leaving everything an indecipherable hodgepodge of brownish gray slush. It’s her own curiosity and not her search for @Thresher that spurs her further eastward along the coast, stopping at the cornucopia of scents that warn her she is nearing a long-established pack territory. Tufted ears fan backward upon her skull; she urges her lambs into the thick cover of the cliffside sequoia forest and approaches alone, taking a short detour to nab a plump, cottontailed rabbit as an offering. Aside from the crimson strike of her killbite, the meal is pristine and intact. She has known some packs to be territorial of the neutral territory around their claimed lands, and she does not want to rouse the ire of whoever leads here.

Though she does not cringe or cower, her body language conveys cautious deference, plumed tail still and loose betwixt her hocks, the scalloped gradient of her rib cage and hollow of her flank facing the unknown pack, muzzle pointed toward the sea. Lacking the physical ability to call to the wolves she smells but cannot see, she resigns herself to waiting however long it takes. She does not sit or lie down. It seems rude — she has not been invited to loiter here — and she wants to be ready to run.