Cedar Sweep When the rain falls I won’t let go

Niamh's patrols often took her beyond the borders, as occasionally the trail left behind a herd of deer or some other prey would distract her from her patrol and lead her off in search of something to hunt- either then, or later once she'd gathered a few other wolves to help her. Since she'd spread bits of fox here and there along the borders, she hadn't seen any other predators come anywhere near them, and she considered that task more or less a success. The others might not have been a fan of her methods, but she maintained that the ends justified the means. She'd set up an effective predator deterrant. Any predator that came to the borders and saw that there was a mean, fox-shredding wolf present, would likely turn and leave. 

What she wanted, though, was a coyote. That would make more of an impression, she thought- so she left the pack in search of one, but ended up coming across a scent which made her lips quiver, and brought a low growl to her throat. She'd learned which pack that scent belonged to, and her eyes flashed. Blackfeather. She had not been a part of the group which had gone to war against Blackfeather- but she still bore the hatred that Towhee had felt. Maegi had been a Blackfeather wolf- and from the scent of the female she now tracked, she was still a part of the pack. Silently, she trailed the female, until she heard her calling out in the distance. Her voice was desperate, hoarse, and Niamh was encouraged. It meant the female was weak; Niamh was anything but. 

She approached, her gaze narrowed as she stalked the female, who was underweight, and had a scar on the right side of her face; her weakness was noted, and Niamh felt her own confidence become bolstered. She growled. "And what are you doing this far West?" She snarled, tail lashing as she stared the female down, blocking her path.