a different stink

Fable wriggled deeper into the undergrowth, her nose to the ground. She wasn't explicitly not allowed to leave the territory, especially if she stuck nearby, but she wasn't in the mood for a tongue lashing. The guilt would eat her up inside. The scent she tracked was completely foreign - nothing like the neighboring packs. There was a familiar salty brine that marked the male - oh! Yes! It was a male! - she tracked as also living near a coast. But it wasn't her coast. She grumbled, her tail swishing in frustration. It caught on a nearby branch and rustled the leaves. Fable bit her lip. Hopefully it wouldn't draw any additional attention to her. Trampled leaves showed the way ahead, paving a path towards where the stranger was concealed. Theory would be glad she snuffled him out! Anyone who didn't announce themselves at their border was highly suspicious, after all.

Tracking 2/3