Deepwood Weald a shadowy hand turns the page

The Mackenzie was erratic in her travel pattern. Entering the Wilds from the south, she did a pivot west to explore the terrain of the southwestern regions of Great Bear and Tuktu. In one fell swoop, migration turned east to Kintla and briefly Rising Sun. Her paws were adept at the mileage and vowed to wander until fate established a purpose for her, even if it wore her paws to the bone. Along the way, she met a variety of wolves, pack and loners alike. So far, the majority seemed eerily normal. Perhaps a little too normal. Even wolves who did not claim alliance to any moniker were naturally hospitable in their own accord. It made her apprehensive of such congeniality even though she should be beholden of such kind strangers. When you came from a past so trauma stricken, it was difficult to break free of the cycle. You could run away physically, but could never run away mentally from it.
 
Ironically, this region shared a portion of the name of her birthplace. Perhaps it had been fate, for Zsuzsa decided to follow the flight path of the Raven above toward northern lands. Instead of being her shadow in the skies, she was its shadow from the Earth. Granted she was already sick of the bad omen that was this avian, but something told her this time to follow its flight. In her jaws were the tattered remains of a fiery colored marten she snagged on the way up as a snack. The trees here seemed stripped thin as her own figure from living off measly weasels. Her trot made an audible crunch from deadened leaves beneath her paws. Zsuzsa came to a gradual stop, however, head raising upon seeing a tawny figure amongst the foliage.
 
Unlike more of the bulky males she encountered, he was tall and lean. Adoring agouti hues, Zsuzsa concluded monotonous black and white wolves were certainly a minority in these parts. He smelled of wilderness, but also a strangely familiar scent. It vaguely reminded her of the animated @Bronco, but couldn’t put a paw on it. Perhaps it was similarities in looks or something with pheromones. Gently setting down her small kill at the foot of her paws, silver eyes observed his lingering. ”Paying your respects?” Zsuzsa called out in a neutral alto tone. She suddenly felt rueful in her clamor through the dead leaves if she trotted in on his solitude at the wrong time.