Emberwood Take my love down to Baton Rouge

His maw was bloodied with his breakfast, the remains of a crow strewn through the grass. Bits of black feather stuck up through the mess of guts and tiny, splintered bones. As Dovev feasted on the small but adequate catch, he couldn't help but marvel at the delicate innards of such an annoying beast as the ebony avian. It had been seated among yellow grasses when Dovev had silently perused it, watching as the crow hopped about lichen-covered boulders, pecking at an anthill. Dovev had jumped through the grass, his belly brushed with the tips of the wild barley and sage. With a startled caw the bird had flapped upwards, but the large white brute sprung upwards to catch it mid-launch in his powerful jaws.

The crow was little to sate Dovev in his daily jaunt, and the white wolf left the remains in a steady jaunt, his head placed upwards in the air and muzzle set into the wind. Occasionally he would slide into a slow bound, running with the breeze pressing against his broad shoulders, but usually his pace was long and ate up the ground as he crossed from the fields into the woods. With the scent of Swiftcurrent fading from his nostrils, it was replaced by one of another, and the alabaster brute came to a halt, gray orbs like searchlights as he read the spaces between the trunks. Yes, there was something sharing the day's walk, and Dovev started forward as the female emerged into view.

He remained quiet, knowing his fur was enough of a beacon for the gray creature to spot him, let alone his size and appearance. But he was mildly curious as to what this female was doing- and where her strange aroma came from.