Haunted Wood still the raven knows if I fall

it snows heavily, now, darkness descending rapidly on the wood. silence settles too, growing thick and heavy as the snow falls more swiftly. distantly, the grating croak of a raven sounds, muffled and dim. the wraith remains on the move, depositing her scent every so often as she goes. she knows better than to haunt the main denning area; some jealous female is all too likely to attempt to drive her out from the borders, or in the least initiate a fight. she's in the mood for neither, and yet will not hide away until the height of her heat passes. instead, she hunts, stalking the most favourable game paths in search of some hunt to burn away the frantic energy gathering beneath her pelt.