Woo! I'll leave it up to Nuki to control Verusha if that's all right. If I need to change anythin', PM me! 
Word Count → 331
The ghost had led them in. They had been found. She had slipped away. And the ghost had led her once again, the ghost and a hazy white pelt beside it, running through the heart of Salsola territory toward the reek of wolves.
Blue eyes narrowed in concentration. Where had Noir—Tayui, that was her real name—gone and why? She could feel the collective purpose in Sequoia tremor, much weaker than the massive trees it had been named for. She couldn’t understand this, and now that she was in the midst of danger, only her highly-honed vigilance and mud-covered, dull coloring preventing her from being spotted. The others had raised a ruckus already, and she tentatively trusted the Salsolians to stay near them. She worked best alone, after all, and she wanted to make sure that their mission wouldn’t be for naught.
Grass plains soon made way to an expanse of forest, and with a more confident but no less cautious gait, Vesper headed into the heart of the woodlands. Paws setting down softly on snow and pine needles, she took some of the worn forest paths, stopping occasionally to roll whenever she found decay. She didn’t want any chances of her clan scent being caught by those she came across; at best that would land her a demotion, if it didn’t completely destroy the wary ties between the two northern packs or even turn allies into enemies. Her lips wrinkled as she wondered what Ezekiel’s thought process was—but then again, Salsola hid most of its dirty secrets. Her hackles flattened as she scowled and stepped onward.
The smell of extremely low-ranked canines reached her nose, and suddenly alert, the she-yote trotted toward the source. The slaves must be close—but none could be found. And then—there, the reek of an old coyote. Hunkering down in the underbrush, her muddy pelt reeking of decaying wood and stool, Vesper looked for the coyote and prayed she would remain hidden.
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