Golden Glade Born of fire, bound to nothing

Her ears pricked forward, and she lowered her head, amber eyes narrowing as she caught sight of movement through the trees.

Aitana stilled, her curiosity immediately piqued.

The other wolf’s tail wagged, rustling the leaves around her. Aitana crouched lower, her silver-streaked coat blending with the frosted shadows.

She watched as the wolf set a marker, her movements almost ritualistic. The way her tail swayed with genuine excitement was so odd, so out of place, that Aitana found herself smirking despite the cold.

What kind of wolf got that thrilled over marking land?