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Eleanor was fortunate the shadows of the world around them hid some of her features. The mist added to the mystery around the identifying features of the female, yet still Vitaliya’s hard eyes locked onto her in a dull dead stare that covered all of her thoughts. All that was true and could be seen was an immovable, emotionless calculation. There was a subtle and unwavering dominance in her stance and that stare. Vitaliya knew where she stood in the world and what it could grant her and never would she hesitate to seize it with her paws.

Here, before her stood a wolf of Iromar. One of the two packs that had led to the loss of a wolf’s life. A fire blazed in the breast of the russet women, a flame that did not flicker on her cold features. Save for the sneer that creased her lips. Through the disfiguring fog, Vitaliya could see Eleanor was beautiful, luckily not as beautiful as she. The sneer fell from her lips and the red female slipped forward, her tail higher than it should have been entering a stranger’s land and a wolf who was bigger than she. I have come to see if the rumors of Iromar were true. Rumors that wolves here are as disgusting as the scum they crawl out of. Once more her dull yellow eyes locked threateningly onto Eleanor’s. This woman could have possibly sat idly by while a child was destroyed at the paws of another. Or worse, she could have helped in the destruction of that life. The assumptions Vitaliya leapt were far and reaching, but little could work to assuage her year long feeding of her anger. If you are Iromar’s example of wonder, clearly it is worse than what rumor implied. Vitaliya growled. Without any other word or invitation, she breezed past Eleanor, further into the moors of the packland. Nothing would stop her quest in finding the answers she sought. Knowing the scents would have long grown stale, her intense gaze shifted over everything, as if just the sight of the scenes around her would be able to reveal the secrets she burned to uncover.