Though there is nothing she lacks in her new homeland, the red wolf is an inherent wanderer. She had meant to climb the tall peak that overlooks Diveen, and had instead found herself standing at the lip of the great crater that she and Tybalt had called their home for a time. The sun is bright overhead, shining against her red and white coat and giving her the look of a flame. Foxtail has always been a slender wolf (skinny is a better descriptor) but she has put on weight the past few months, and with the added bulk of her winter coat, she looks formidable enough to be out alone, even pregnant as she is.

There is a flicker of movement in the crater and Foxtail, who is beginning to feel overheated, even in this chilly season, decides to descend. A pale wolf streaks across her line of sight and she draws up short, her golden eyes searching for what he is running after – or from. She sees nothing; he is only running for the sake of running, and Foxtail watches him longingly. The white-marked wolf’s strength is in her speed, and with her pregnancy beginning to weigh her down, she has never wanted to run so much as she does now. Her black legs shift uncomfortably on the hard ground below her paws, but instead of bolting she holds herself to a steady trot, drawing closer to the stranger.

A month ago she’d not have bothered approaching a strange wolf – he might be dangerous – but the sense of belonging that comes with acceptance in a pack-family has tamed her natural hesitance. “Good day for a run,” she says, stopping a comfortable distance away from the pale wolf. He is handsome, she notices, with a sheen to his coat that stirs something almost jealous inside of her. Foxtail is not a pretty wolf, not with her long nose and overlarge ears, but she has never cared too much about it, knowing that she had other qualities to make up for her lack of physical perfection.