Herbalists' Cache Flew in from the city

Whitebark Stream had disintegrated and while Meadow tried to keep tabs on her previous pack mates, they had begun to disperse among their own paths and so she forfeited any right to follow after them. Her path was healing—she had longed to learn, but her mentor had fallen to the wayside.

So she scoured the Herablist’s Cache, eyes keen to study what the land had to offer and burn it to memory for future reference. The rains made it difficult to see at times, but she made due. She had to.

When the damp scent of the air shifted, she peered upward, svelte form stilling as she noted another; a mottled wolf of whites, silvers and darker greys. Nervousness fluttered in her chest, and demurely she made to look away, wondering if she could simply merge back into the tall foliage and remain unseen.