Blacktail Deer Plateau She's the giggle at a funeral

Having spent so many days lurking upon the edge of the plateau - but not in it - it was a wonder that Anselm didn't smell a bit like the wolves that lived there. He didn't have the mark of the Alpha nor any other wolves, but his pelt no longer smelled as light as snow or as blank as ice; the pines naturally perfumed him. It had not been his intention to loiter so long in this place where he was unwanted, but the boy was hungry - and he knew there was food nearby. He knew he could get to the food if he was careful and smart. Perhaps biding his time would be worth it?

With this in mind, Anselm took to roosting among a copse of trees along the northwest edge of the forest. They were somewhat secluded because of the density of woodland around them, but also near enough to one of the paths in to the plateau that Anselm could keep an eye out - which is what he was doing when a stranger came striding by. She was pale; not as white as the northern wolves, but not gold, and as he watched her Anselm noted patches of color upon her.

She was distracted by something, following the trail with her head down - meaning he could remain hidden as long as he was quiet. But he wasn't about to do that. Anselm poked his nose out from around one of his more familiar trees, and cleared his throat, hoping that would be enough. Voyeurism appeared to be one of his driving factors, apparently.