She’s not seen Tybalt in weeks. He had left to hunt, he had said, and Foxtail had simply nodded and closed her tired eyes, unwilling to face such an early dawn. But then morning came, and afternoon, and evening, and still the pale wolf had not returned. Foxtail was unwilling to leave the rocky overhang where they had spent the night, unsure if Tybalt would be able to find her in this strange land.

But eventually her hunger drew her out, and then kept her out, and she has been wandering alone for several weeks now. The black wolf has avoided contact with other wolves when she can, and offers raised hackles and bared teeth to those that she cannot avoid. Never a friendly creature to begin with, Foxtail is quickly descending into a permanent lone wolf.

She hears the chatter of voices from a good distance away, and her red ringed ears prick forward curiously. Was that? No, she tells herself, it wouldn’t have been Tybalt. But there, between the trees is a flash of cream colored fur, and Foxtail does not hold herself back for long. She keeps to the edge of the group, her red and white tipped tail raised high, but never approaching. Her sharp golden eyes rake through the assembled wolves, but though there are several paler creatures, none of them are Tybalt. The she-wolf growls quietly in her throat, and makes to move away.