Deepwood Weald Life is ours, we live it our way.

The breeze brought the scent of Chakliux before her eyes found his pallid form, and the distinct aroma of she-wolf in heat to accompany his musk made her lip curl briefly. She had returned with the approach of her own season, hopeful to commit herself to the seal-hunter and bear his young for the Springtime to come, and she was reminded once more of her sore disappointment as she straightened herself and lifted her muzzle to observe his approach.

Good day to you, seal-hunter, the swallow said in greeting. Although she wanted to be happy to see him again, her imagination ran wild over the time he'd shared with his companions and left a sourness in her mouth. Hunting?

Her own chosen prey, lost to her distraction.