Honeyed Pasture If you strip away the myth from the man

Steadily, Tzila inched her way north. Closer and closer towards the coast. As much as a part of her was eager for this hopeful transition, another part was apprehensive. She loved the forests, the meadows and even the mountains. The un-yielding, solid earth beneath her paws. She worried that she would miss it too much, these places. Places like this sprawling grassland with its golden weaves stretching for what could be an eternity.

Sighing quietly through her nose, if Tzila had fingers, she would have crossed them. Hoping that when she did finally arrive at what may well be a future home, that there would be opportunity for her to still roam. She craved this change - she knew she needed it. But just as much, her inner rebel, who refused to be tied down and leashed, needed her freedom. The proposition was unrealistic, almost dream-like, but it was a hope she held fast to. 

Having opted to branch away from her friend Astaroth temporarily, she set out alone through the raw, damp weather in search of a meal to tide her over. Nothing big. A rabbit would do, or even an early Spring fawn of an elk or deer. Tiny beads of water clung to her guard hairs like crystals, streaking down her muzzle in miniscule rivers, while nearly matching eyes picked through the golden plains for any sign of prey. The fleck of ruddy fur amid the gold was a near match, be it for numerous potential targets. Interested, but unaware as of yet, due to her distance that he was not prey, Tzila came sauntering in for a closer look. Only when his shape cleared, distinguishing itself into a plainly wolf like physique, did she turn to veer away silently, tail flicking in disinterest.