Kintla Flatlands your problem is, you spent your whole life thinking there were rules

A light rain rolls in misty sheets across the prairie, disguising the presence of a wolf that lurks between the fog. Belharra's form passes in and out of obscurity. Wind whipping off of the long plateaus to the east howl past. The coldness - and frankly, the miserableness of it all - reminded Belharra of home.

She had hoped coming here would allay the growing pains of her stomach. To her dismay it seemed otherwise. Scents of prey were scarce as hen's teeth. Scents of wolves were not. She did her best to avoid the patches were the scents of her species were most thick, but by and by she found it impossible - and very likely other wolves were hunting the hare also.