Emberwood wondered, then, what freedom meant

pause, stare into the wood. the section of border the coyote follows now edges a section of closely-knit saplings, the top of a small ridge that slopes gently into the territory. there is no movement immediately apparent, and so she dips her muzzle into one of the footprints left behind by what must be a recent patrol. female, healthy. fresh, too, not an hour had passed since the owner of the tracks had passed by here. 

movement, then, below, and greyjay veers abruptly from the border. she moves a few dozen meters away, pausing to dig at the snow when something happens to interest her, circles once, twice, to reexamine a scent. once, abruptly, she sits, head canted back to watch the flight of a raven. a few moments later, its grating croak echoes over the trees.

it begins to snow heavily. gradually, as if by some magnetic pull, she nears the border in her wanderings until she is alongside it again. she grows near, considers the extent of her hunger. again, she veers away; not as far, this time. she remains on her peculiar perpendicular path, pausing now and again when movement catches her eye from within the wood.