Witch's Marsh starflower

Morwenna’s senses were sharp, her eyes scanning the wide, open space of the marshland. The wind carried with it a multitude of scents, but one stood out—a familiar, yet elusive scent. A pack, but not one she could place.

Her stride slowed as she observed the figure before her—a tall, raven-colored male, imposing and muscular. The absence of an eye did not escape her notice, nor did the proud, unyielding stance he held as if claiming the land beneath his paws. Her heart quickened, though she maintained her calm. This was no ordinary wolf.

She drew closer, carefully gauging the distance between them. The tension between them seemed palpable, but Morwenna’s movements were deliberate, slow, and controlled. She wasn’t sure what to make of him just yet, but she knew to be cautious. There was no immediate threat, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be one.

With a soft bark, she called out to him, her voice carrying on the crisp air, respectful and probing. I do not recognize your scent. May I ask your name?

Her tail remained neutral, not threatening, but not entirely unguarded either. She was a matriarch once, and the sight of a lone male in such an unfamiliar place piqued her curiosity, but she wouldn’t approach recklessly.