Broken Antler Fen The Cat King of Havana

Thread title by a book by Tom Crosshill that I am reading.

Lele had woken up to the unmistakeable sense of autumn in the air. She drew in the scent of earth, grass and falling leaves, then got to her feet to shake out the droplets of dew from her coat. It was still early, the sun had just only crept above the horizon and mist hung above the meadow she had spent the night in and among the trees of a nearby forest. All signs predicted another warm summer day, but years of travelling had taught her to observe little changes and get ready early.

Up until this year upcoming months of winter had never particularly bothered her - she had never been truly alone and though provision of food had proven to be difficult at times, the little group that had consisted of Larkspur and her father (Harps for a while too) had somehow managed to scrape by. Simple and easy. Now, however, she realized that as a lone wolf there was very little chance of her succeeding to the next spring. And at a certain age you no longer look forward to an unpredictable future and life in hunger and struggle. You want something semi-reliable. 

This pack at the very outskirts of the map would not have drawn any particular interest of hers, had it not been for the familiar scent of a female she had met few weeks ago. Maia her name had been. And she had seemed decent and nice. Which all things considered was better than going around and trying to pry your way in a place you know no one at all. So she came. And she called. And she waited patiently for anyone to come and greet her.