Broken Boulder the slow approach of the sun

The faint smell of blood awoke Ione some hours later. The metallic tang in her nose and the back of her throat covered the scent of wolf. All she smelled was blood. Curious, but cautious, she rose and made her way slowly and carefully to the entrance of the tunnels. Blood was usually a good indicator that something bad had happened, or was happening. She peeked out at the world, her body still hidden in the shadow of the crevice. The wind picked up, and now the scent of wolf filled her nose, as well. She cringed and almost turned around to head back down to the safety of the den, but hesitated.

Why was there the smell of blood with the smell of a wolf? Was the wolf injured? Had it killed prey? Had it killed another wolf? Ione had survived to adulthood because she was smart enough to avoid confrontations with wolves, among other large, predatory animals. Yet, her curiosity got the better of her. She would just trot over, close enough to see what was up, and then head off. Having made up her mind, she stepped outside of the shadow of the boulder and and scanned the horizon. 

There, in the grass, was a dark figure—definitely a wolf, though not a fully grown one. This made her a bit more confident. Yearlings could be stupid. She picked her way carefully closer, letting out one sharp bark to warn the wolf that she was there, in case it somehow hadn’t noticed her. It would not do to startle a wolf, even if it was a yearling. She stood many yards back from it, her posture somewhat low to the ground, and one front paw lifted in mid-step, the easier to turn away lest the wolf charge her. The wolf had a few dead rodents in its jaws, she noted. That was the source of the blood smell. Now that she knew, she was keen to get away.