The Bracken Woods you could trample upon,

Whrist had left the packlands far to long ago, barely any pack scent clung to her body and even so she had gotten no further in the task given to her by Kynareth Deagon. As she traipsed through the furthest point from the pack lands she wanted to go, She was about to turn her paws toward the long journey home. ‘Home’ was such a foreign concept to her but she was being to like the idea.

Those wolves seemed to share her concept of life and death. Suddenly she froze, the black wraith lifted her head and scented the air. She had picked up a vague scent she had barely picked out from the old nearly washed away scents that had criss-crossed the saint’s old territory.

Whrist had a gift for memorizing scents and trailing them. She trotted toward the wolf she knew must near by.  She stopped a fair ways away from the female allowing her black form to be seen clearly. She looked over this wolf, she certainly fit the description of this Praimfaya she had be looking for. And she looked to be running from something though she could be wrong.

Whrist found herself inspecting the females scars, contemplating how good a fighter she must be. She decided not to let one know her intent, but she offered conversation of one wolf to another “Running from somewhere?” She smiled in a friendly manner, but thought to herself, 'You idiot that might not have been the best opening line.’ Whirst wasn’t one for conversation usually, but she did need to learn more about this wolf.