Wapun Meadow if you knew, knew what the bluebird sang at you

another early misty morning punctuated by harsh beams of light; another interloper.

this one hideously deformed -- or at least that was astara's opinon as she watched the fox-faced man hunt.

she trailed off at a distance. her last excursion with easthollow had her protective of overextension - the cuts on her face and throat were still raw, painting a picture of a wolf well used to conflict.

if he was here to hunt, she would watch him until he left. if he made a turn for easthollow... well.... he might never leave at all. not in body, anyway.