Redhawk Caldera Do not approach the hooded figures {j}

Tempest slunk through the trees, bored. The wind parted her thick fur slightly, revealing the scars it concealed. Her stance was relaxed, but alert.

She stopped dead when a heavy, intoxicating scent hit her nose. Blood. And fresh, too. Her senses on high alert, she followed the blood trail, which led to a border and over it. How convenient. She approached the invisible line that marked the territory, stopping to sit on her haunches and deliver a howling song that requested for an audience.