that thieving bastard

As the setting sun bathed the prairie in a warm light, Vanta's ears perked. She inhaled deeply, sorting through the myriad of scents the prairie offered. Among them, the distinct aroma of another wolf caught her attention, a scent unfamiliar.

Raising her head, she scanned the horizon. The prairie, vast and almost endless, offered little in the way of hiding places, yet the stranger remained unseen. Her tail twitched with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Was she friend, or was she foe? Perhaps, if Vanta was exceedingly lucky, this stranger might have knowledge of the wolf she had been hunting.

Shifting her weight to her paws, she moved forward. The scent grew stronger, leading her towards the figure of a horned wolf, her fire-kissed form almost camouflaged against the backdrop of the fading light. Vanta's stomach lurched as memories of her mother surfaced, memories she had tried in her grief to forget. Fire, her mother's voice. One moment she was blinded by the light, and the next her vision cleared just long enough to watch the horned woman fade into the flames.

She realized she was staring and caught herself, swallowing hard. Her upbringing as a Fatalis princess had taught her the value of both strength and diplomacy... even when the world felt like it might be ending. "Hello there." She forced her tone into one of calm assurance. Into the voice of a wolf who knew her place in the world. "I'm Vanta. I didn't expect to find anyone else out here."