Blackfeather Woods send help

the pale bone - a pelvis, she thinks, on close inspection - rolls lightly towards her through the snow. she steps forward to nose at it, taking in the scent, brushing her muzzle against the surface. had she been steeped within the lore of the wood a little while longer, perhaps, she'd have a better idea of what was expected of her. perhaps the empty-eyed wolf she saw in those fractured moments between wakefulness and sleep would be more than a simple nightmare. 

it feels important, certainly, and despite what the careful trail it's left seems to indicate, has a certain weight to it she can not quite name. auds flick, and carefully, she rolls the bone back toward the woman, understanding, but then, not at all. she watches her a moment longer, the wordless woman, and then nods carefully and turns on her heel, understanding her curiousity will never fully be sated and instead choosing to focus in the interloper; who's trail was definitely going in the wrong direction.