Deepwood Weald Blood Cult

It had taken them days to leave Ravensblood forest. 
And yet here she was, miles away from the canyon. It was one night, but she was here. Now let's hope there weren't any faces that recognized her. 
The wood was just as creepy as the last time she had been here, the mist clinging to everything, the dizzying trees. 
She had almost considered inviting Donovan, as she was sure he would appreciate the Debauchery she would be participating in. But she needed this for herself. She needed something that for once, wasn't tied to him, or the pack, or leadership. Let him carry the mantle. 
As she entered the clearing it was though a heavy cloak slipped from her shoulders and a wide, genuine smile allowed itself to grace her muzzle. 
She spotted Abbaddon and approached him, the bravado and Dominance gone from her. Here she was relaxed. At home amongst her own kind. And her thirst would soon be slaked.  
In her jaws she carried a juvenile coyote, too in shock to struggle or make much noise, it's eyes wide and fixed ahead, sides heaving, mouth open in a wordless scream. She deposited the creature at Abbadon's paws with a nod. 
"Thank you for having me. I brought you a gift. Do what you want with it- the blood is fresh, the flesh is young. Depending on your persuasion."