green is not a creative colour

The air shimmered with a frigidity typically unknown to the coast; frost clung to the bark of rare sequoias and aspens alike, and the ground was covered in fingers of it and glassy ice. The undergrowth hung heavy with a thin blanket of wet snow, and all was shrouded in a dense ice fog. Even the sun, rising high in the sky by now, did nothing to cut it. These things were observed by the Horizon Ridge Kappa as she travelled the outer perimeter of the pack territory, approximately half a mile past the first scent markings; a wide berth, so that she might catch any wolf that thought they might get too close.

She reflected as she walked of her time in Shearwater Bay, and how much she had hated border patrol. Jinx had always been a more social wolf; the kind who enforced hierarchy, and was well-known by her pack mates. Kaskae had always been better at the forceful stuff like guarding the territory, anyway. Presently, with the air hanging cold and her breath misting relentlessly in front of her, she decided that she still hated border patrol, but the instinct to protect drove her more than the love of it.

She marched along purposefully, her mind wrapped up in the memories of her past, but the rest of her — the physical wolf, driven by primal urges and instincts — was focused on her patrol, and her nerves were drawn taut as a bowstring ready to shoot at any potential threat.