Tuktu Hinterlands die sondeval

Wraen had spent the better part of the day, scouting the fringes of the bog and examining the muskrat mounds. In the past weeks these had been very good hunting grounds, but as with all places that are used frequently, the resources become depleted and scarce. Today her catch had been a meager, sickly this spring's rat youth, but the rest of his kin had remained safely tucked inside their homes, sheltered both from cold and hungry predators. 

If there had been only herself to feed, the Sovereign would have felt content. However, she had to think about many and the knowledge that just another food source was no longer available, was not very happy. With the added weight of this, she was walking towards home slowly, when she came across the stark, sour smell of vomit, and changed her course. Her thoughts immediately turned to Elfie, though the tracks in the snow were left by a foreign wolf.

Still, there was some belief in righteousness left in her - perhaps, if she found this sick wolf and helped him, someone would find Elfie, wherever he was, and be good to him as well. Therefore she walked on, tracked diligently, until she found the den, where the sick wolf had cooped himself. She did not make her presence known right away and only, when a scent of fresh urine wafted from the hole in the ground upwards, did she clear her throat and called out to the sufferer quietly.