Her breath steamed in the cool air, her eyes narrowed against the chill. They scanned the land, noting the drooping trees and the thick scent of borderline. Pack. Swiftly, soundlessly, she rose, slipping through the fog and wood like a fish through water. Her movements seemed effortless, gracefully, but she was wary of the scents that rose up before her like a wall, that promised death should she trespass. At least, at the mountain it would have been. Teeth bared, eyes glared angrily as she thought of them. Traitors, rebels, fools. They would be regretting their decisions now, yes they all would. The anger faded as quickly as it had come, melting away to humour. A quiet chuckle escaped the maw of the Shadow. Their mistakes had cost them.
Her muzzle tipped back, eyes slitted as a beautiful howl broke the silence. It rent the air like a bird, moving upward, searching. She called for the leaders of this land, the pack in the midst of the crying trees. As the last notes of her eerie song faded from the air, her head dipped and she sat, waiting.
As she did, Alya contemplated the cold. Spring was a funny thing, coaxing the creatures out with warmth and sunshine, then landing a blow with frigid cold and howling winds. Warmth then cold, over and over. It was a good lesson. Kindness, trust, then anger and power. She would do well to learn from it.
(If I did anything wrong, let me know. Thanks!)