Honeyed Pasture ³a tenna nárenna

Having split months ago from her travelling companions, Knife-Ear left with only the naming convention she had adopted from them (along with a stolen hunk of meat), parting to venture forth into the great wide yonder in search of nothing in particular. Her whims and wanderings were as unpredictable as the weather...or the tremors that now shook the earth underfoot. Such rumblings were exhilarating and awe-inspiring, but they did strike a certain kind of fear into the coywolf, who stuck to the coast as she travelled believing it to be safer than the rocky, shaky mountains.

It led her through moors and plains and cliffs claimed by flocks of ravens before she finally found herself lost in a sea of golden grasses. Though it was not the swaying blades that caught her attention, but the scent of deer and wolf. A scavenger by nature, Knife-Ear knew if there were wolves near a herd, there was usually a chance at a meal. The scent did not indicate a pack, however, and her hopes were dashed as she spotted a minuscule shock of white in amongst the pasture. She would have thought the other a coy like her were it not for the stark silver of her coat.

As Knife-Ear stalked closer, she took note of the odd scaring upon the stranger's back with a fascinated tilt of her head, before drawing her gaze up and focusing on the small herd that grazed the fields. The only herd. "Slim pickings, innit?" she whispered as she came within earshot of the pallid wolf.