Wapun Meadow the color of blood in the violent setting of a dying sun

There is little for her to do but idly wander in the moments between filling her most basic needs. The familiarity of the meadow lends monotony to this activity, until she finds herself lulled into a state of dim consciousness. She can't say how long she spends like this — only that it ends with the scent of another wolf. A male, young and strong and near. The promise of company, or perhaps another excuse to vent her frustrations, lures her. She follows the trail until it leads her to the sleeping stranger, an impressive wolf painted in grey and black. Hello, She greets quietly, keeping her distance for now. She does not smell Easthollow on him, and that is promising — but that doesn't mean he isn't their ally.