Big Salmon Lake daring

Hunger had fallen upon all of them, but it was with a certain desperation that the mother wolf swept herself so far from the safety of Diaspora. Her pups were thinning—nevermind the way her own curvaceous form had begun to show the falling sustainability of the valleys—and she struck out, her own call resounding across the small hollow they temporarily claimed as she made her way down the mountains, the need to satiate her curiosity of the lands opposite of where Mahler wished to take them.

She trailed after the winding water, disappointed when a vast meadow procured nothing of importance or interest. The herds had vanished—larger game ghosting from the wolves who were becoming more and more risk averse to feed their families.

Emerald eyes befell upon the gaunt figure of another by the lake—her own form giving pause before she boldly pressed forward to investigate the wolf. A sashay of narrow hips was given, while her tail curled neutrally against the wind as she closed the distance between them.