The Heartwood all the perfumes of arabia will not sweeten this little hand

Like a ghost flitting in and out of reality, Tzila weaved her way through the wilderness. She had no set destination in mind. She simply went where her paws took her, to sources of potential interest or benefit. She continued to put her clashing emotions on the back burner, feeling it best to live in the here and now, as she always had. The sound of crunching up ahead, of teeth against bone, made her ears stiffen. Still but a dark shadow amongst the long dead foliage and sparse bushes, she located the midnight wolf easily, picking over the remains of a hare.

Expressing little interest in such meager leftovers, Tzila resumed her slow walk, ears tilted to signal her awareness of the others presence. She was not here actively seeking to engage with another, but she wouldn't entirely adjust her path because of a single wolf. She made to move on, but not before offering the other a single flash of a silver eye in silent acknowledgement.