Spring came to the thicket the same way each year... slowly, in ways both subtle and screaming. The tightly-knit trees protected the snow. In the meadows and fields the warming sun beat down the snow, but under the sheltering branches it lingered. The paths were grainy and slushy while the unused areas stretched out as unblemished as mid-winter. A breeze fought to weave it's way through the closely grown thicket. The air was scarcely warmer and held more wet than warmth. It seemed winter would never end, but subtleties hinted otherwise. The damp air held an odor that might have come from the sun warmed trees, it could be the smell of sap rising or not. There might have been the random drop of water, snow-melt running down from the highest branches. Or it could have been the sound of snow being scuffed in the breeze.
But, there was no denying the restlessness that made the pale wolf shift over her bed. Her feet wore the snow down as she went 'round and 'round, too roused to lay down and not move. The heat from her pads had turned the snow to slush an hour ago. The sun slanted thinly in the thicket as evening finally fell. It was misery to stay cooped up here, but there was nowhere to go now. Last year had been far easier; she had stalked the territory sullen, but knowing none would follow. This year she would be followed and, more to the point, she would relish it.
The sun had slipped lower in the sky and finally fallen behind the mountain when her golden eyes probed the developing shadows just beyond the hiding spot, far from tired. She had to slip away for a moment. Iopah was used to roaming from dawn to dusk and the inactivity, combined with her heat, was driving her senseless. Like a ghost she threaded through trees and glid over the unmarked snow.