Tired, dark paws ascended the steep slope, slipping in the snow and bleeding as they struck a hidden rock. The she-wolf sucked in her breath harshly through her teeth and lifted her foot to lick at its pad. The taste of blood and charred earth, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was a premonition for her stay in Nova Scotia. The pessimistic thought made the realist smirk, and without a sound she continued on her uphill trek toward the apex of the mountain range. She had tried to find the shortest section to cross over, but the altitude still made it difficult for her to breathe. Leaping onto a rock and pausing to catch her breath, she could see an expanse of territory beyond. The burned scars of the land receded into shrubbery, and the tangled masses of forests and cities alike sprawled out beyond.
Promising, Tomasa Santillian thought, smiling faintly. It looked like the grass really was greener on the other side.
Keeping her ears pricked (with the tips flopping over as usual) for the sounds of prey, she scampered down a short hill and nearly slid on the slick ground. Surefootedness was an acquired trait, however, and from the time since she first came to the mountain range days ago, she had learned the ins and outs of how to not fall to your death off a ledge. Having all four paws to brace yourself with helped; she had not been in optime form for days.
Very quickly, however, Tommy realized that she was not alone. She could smell another wolf, a young female like herself, in the area. Although she would normally skirt around the stranger and continue on a solitary route, she knew that she had no idea about these lands. Giving the other canine a chance could very well benefit her.
The wolfdog turned and headed toward the scent, leaping up another incline and finally pausing once she found a black and white pelt. She cleared her throat but did not say a word of greeting, instead lowering herself onto her haunches and gauging the other’s reaction.
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