Kintla Flatlands The Judge

Steel orbs flashed in the growing twilight, and a silver form pad softly into a small clearing among the skeletal trees. A tander breeze pushes back the fur on the girls coat, revealing a still-healing gash on her shoulder, though that fight has been long since won. Aeronwyn felt better then she had in a long time. She was one of a pack, and that automacitally boosted her confidence (and ego). She raked her claws along a dead stump by the border, enjoying the feeling of crumbling wood beneath her honed claws. 

Then, she set out at a trot from the borders, no destination in mind, merely an idea of how she wished to spend the night. Blood, a fight, would certainly be nice.