Broken Antler Fen Indigo

Wraen made her move, but a second too late. She felt the mouse slip through her paws and disappear in the leaves hastily. She made a half-hearted effort to shuffle around there, but eventually decided that this much effort for such a small prize was simply not worth it. Another time. She lifted her head, looked to the left and her green gaze met with that of another's. It was a middle-aged, silver-agouti wolf, having seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"Hey!" she greeted him, closing the distance between them, tracing his features and trying recall, whether she had seen this face before, but finding no match at present. Three years for a wolf with a life expectancy of 8 - 9 in the wilds feels like decades. No wonder you lose track of acquaintances you've met only briefly. "May I help you?"