Oh my oh my

The slim figure that trotted along the riverside was not a common sight in the southern lands, particularly not with young pups in the pack and winter soon begun in the north. Still, she needed news, and had slipped away to learn of the doings of the southern packs. It was not good hearing - there was sickness everywhere, it seemed, and many packs had fallen of late. Many more were listlessly quiet, possibly the result of the disease that ravaged down here in the wet. The smell of sickness and, yes, death caused her pelt to prickle in instinctual caution. Already in her long journey down this way she had encountered a startling amount of death, lone wolves who had sickened and, with no one to treat them, died alone and unburied. She would have to take care to bathe herself thoroughly in running water before she reentered her packlands, to minimize the risk of returning bearing the disease upon her pelt...

Her head came up sharply, drawn from her inner musings by the sight of a strange young male playing with the bodies of dead birds. Not unusual behavior for a pup, perhaps, but this wolf was a mature male, far from a pup. Even with the seemingly constant rain sluicing much of the scent from the area, the male smelled wrong, and with all the sickness she had seen the odd behavior and scent made her bristle silently, silver eyes narrowing as she regarded the strange wolf.