night air has the strangest flavor

Muirrin was a creature of the sunlight, particularly with the cold nights found on the mountain during the colder half of the year. As dusk fell, the Alpha retreated with the rest of her brethren to the caverns they used as their den site. Gathered close for warmth, the wolves of Tuatha Dé would exchange stories to warm their souls and combat the feelings of melancholy and despair that could sometimes overtake the season of no sun. Even so, the Blackthorn would occasionally wake amongst the slumbering bodies that surrounded her—a nightmare, or perhaps the call of spirits, or the piercing cry of some bird of prey. Usually, she would return to sleep after a moment of quiet, when she was certain all remained well.

Tonight, when she awoke suddenly, Muirrin rose to her feet and wove through the scattered bodies of those that slumbered.

She could not explain her instinct, though she did not fight or question it like she might have months before. She accepted it, and allowed it to guide her where it would. Muirrin exited the cavern and stepped into the night, shuddering against the sudden blast of cold. For a moment, the Alpha considered ignoring the feeling in her gut, but the wind carried an unfamiliar scent. Her golden eyes cast a mournful look upon her slumbering pack mates, and she continued down the gentle slope of the Sunspire until she saw a shadowed figure moving along the foothills.

Whoever it was, Muirrin sensed no threat—they were not sneaking, nor were they invading. Again, she considered simply returning back to the caverns and allowing the stranger to pass like a ship in the night... but something had called her out here. She approached soundlessly, though she made no attempt to remain unnoticed.