Bramblepoint Burn the Fleet [m]

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The blonde wolf forged her way through drifted snow, surging toward the West where the Glen would be, shelthered, potentially, against the shoulder of Moonspear but she would find herself subdued by the howling winds which rose higher throughout the day. While she might not be considered a superstitious wolf, she did have a feeling perhaps that this was some type of pathetic fallacy; and that the weather was telling her to head back, to check in on her son and daughter. So she would finished her journey part of the way through the orchard of Bramblepoint, and howl to inform the wolves of the Glen that Bronco would be delayed in his return, waylaid by a fight with a cougar, which was still on the prowl. She relayed the message that the attack took place at the Caldera's base, and that the beast had headed West; and that Bronco, Fennec and Alyx were all recovering. 

She turned back, then, certain that she could have shaken snow from the tip of Moonspear with her howl and that surely someone in the Glen had heard her even over the winds. They circled her and hounded her, snarling and biting from all angles as though to shepherd her along and so she went, her blonde fur tousled by the wind and her eyes squinted against its dry sting. 

She set her gaze toward the East, to where the Caldera would rise into the stormy clouds though it was far out of sight yet. Above her, the bare branches of fruit trees creaked and groaned, clattering as the wind made them parry and fence. She continued to force her way back along the same path she'd taken on her way West, only to find her trail fading before long, her pawprints whisked away by moving dunes of snow. What caught her attention was a set of tracks heading North, which were given little more than a bare sniff in passing- but the scent she caught made her whirl, plunging her nose into the snow so that she could be certain of what she'd found. 

Her pupils dilated, and she uttered a low, thrumming growl, before she set out at a ground-eating pace, following directly in the footsteps left behind shortly enough ago that the wind had not yet given enough mercy to cover them and hide them from her sight.