Lost Creek Hollow see, your face wasn't quite as I remember

her decision to stop at the borders was driven by a multitude of factors. chiefly, solitude had become something unpredictable and dangerous. her tail most surely smelled like death, now, and there was a heat beneath her fur she couldn't shake, no matter how many pools she dipped into. fatigue - both of her wanderings, and of her beginning illness - had her desire no further travel. she's no idea what to do now that she's at another pack's borders; it seems the kind of knowledge her father would have imparted had she not snuck away in the middle of the night. 

the best course of action is to garner someone's attention, she decides quickly, and thus calls into the empty space before her with a h*owl she hopes sounds confident and powerful enough to paste over her lack of knowledge on how to procede. this done, she sits gingerly and waits for what she hopes will be, at best, a neutral reception.