<font style='margin-left:20px;'>Long, flat stretches of grassland had turned into gently undulating plains, a rolling landscape not unlike the swell of a great sea. Sibyl had darted up a slight slope to stop at the peak of a stout grassy mound. The day’s exertion had caught up with her and she dropped to the ground, panting. Bronze eyes gazed over the meadow just beginning to sprout and bloom for its annual springtime flourish. From her perch atop the knoll she could see much of the meadow lit by the waning sunlight. The sun was nearly halfway below the horizon and lit the russet fur on Sibyl’s left side as if it were ablaze. The whispering grasses shushed in Sibyl’s ears, singing her a lullaby much like the prairies of her home. Sibyl’s head had begun to occasionally jerk as she fought off sleep, but the weary traveler was easily defeated. The wolf’s head sank slowly, slowly, finally resting upon her outstretched forelimbs.</font>
<font style='margin-left:20px;'>The call of a great horned owl rang out across the plains, startling Sibyl from her sleep. The moon had risen and the dim light cast by the crescent turned the whispering grasses blue. Deciding it was time to continue onward, Sibyl rose and proceeded down the knoll. She need not run now; a feeling, an instinct, bloomed inside of her; she felt she was nearing something. While she was not moving at a running pace her short legs moved briskly, making quick work of the moon-basked meadow. Sibyl caught a scent on the wind and slowed. Another wolf – or several, she couldn’t quite tell – had been in this meadow before. Not wanting to risk trespassing Sibyl lifted her head, not too high, and let out a questing howl: Here I am. Is anyone there?</font>