Cricket Creek Bog a gentle breeze or lightning in a storm

Maiira wasn’t sure if she had been expecting a return call or not, and one that seemed inviting at that. This one sounded like a full-blooded wolf, and wolves often mistook Maiira for nothing more than vermin. Not that she hadn’t met nice wolves, too… but not all were nice. This is why Maiira preferred not to be in packs. Small groups of unique individuals she could handle, but more than three or four wolves around at any one time set her fur itching. Of course, anyone who messed with Maiira often got more than they were bargaining for. The coywolf had a tendency to hold grudges…

Maiira shook her head to prevent herself from continuing to go off on a tangent in her head and trotted in the direction of the howl. She leapt lightly over pools of water and ducked around trees and under hanging moss that clung to branches. Yes, this place was certainly for her. She was sure if she ran into trouble that the bog would offer plenty of places to hide.

The first thing she noticed was not the wolf, but the flower on the ground at the wolf’s paws. “Beautiful,” she she said, and then lifted her head to meet the gaze of the young wolf. A pup, though one old enough to be outside of its pack territory on its own. “Greetings, cousin,” Maiira said with a flash of a smile, although her fangs did not gleam as brightly here where the sun was covered by trees and mist.  “What brings a young wolf like you to a spooky place like this?” She emphasized the word spooky and glanced around with just her eyes, as if expecting a monster to jump out at them from behind a tree, although the grin was still plastered to her face.