Wapun Meadow it isn't about the stuff

It had been freaking forever since she had had momma's blessing to go wandering outside the territory; the moment the restrictions were begrudgingly lifted she flew off like she had wings on her feet. The whole meadow looked pretty dead as she trotted through, with the lush grasses mostly still standing but well-bleached by winter's touch. Brou entertained herself for a moment weaving her skinny form among a particularly tall patch that was still standing tall, reaching her nose up to touch one seedy stalk as it bobbed its own head down to greet her. In that motion the other wolf's scent hooked upon her upreached nose.

Nostrils flaring, Brou instinctively crouched down a bit as she eeled a few steps further forward to peer through the curtain of yellowy grasses. Some punky young wolf with a form possibly even more attenuated than her own was wobbling his way about out there. Brou stared at his impressive ginormous ears for a moment before his shaky attempt to tripod drew her eye away. Another moment of indecisiveness, as she briefly and ponderingly caught her lip on an eyetooth, and then Brou snaked back a few steps and began to stealthily work her way around toward her goal. As the proud-tailed boy made his way toward the big smelly boulder plopped prominently mid-meadow, Brou slunk around its far side to come up behind him. Her lip twitched up into a small smirk as she spotted the nervously darting eyes of the other, and the pretentious, precarious, unsteady male pose he was again lifting himself up to assume—sheesh, why did the boys all do that all the time anyway? Ridiculous.

BOO! yelled Brouhaha as she leapt out from concealment. Her own white-tipped tail waved high as she tilted her head slightly and offered the stranger a wicked little twinkling grin. Don't fall over, she added in precaution, a little too sweetly, and fairly unhelpfully. Too little too late—or so she could only hope.