Redhawk Caldera Normally subhuman cultures such as this are of no consequence

There was new faces in the pack lands. Faces she hadn't met yet, but could tell they were knew by scent alone. She had not strayed fur in recent weeks. Her wounds now fully healed and scarred, proof that she had knocked at death's door and lived. It was funny how those things worked. She had been running away, only to return to where she wanted to be all along. How wonderfully strange.

Today her gaze came upon a wolf that was as mismatched in her fur as her body proportions and Amalila wondered at it. It wasn't a terrible sight. It made for a unique and lovely pattern, but it was interesting.

She chuffed quietly to let the other know she was near, a young one by the looks of it and she waited, patiently.