The words had been a surprise for the male lead to her, for sure. His brow raised, his mouth falling agape slightly. How could she say that? There was no competition for food, there were no rivals; it was a tranquil territory. But Alisa liked to display her skills, liked competition. That place, the pack with the lazy king, was more of a holiday to her.
She had been a picaro since her departure from Apple Orchard. Of course, she had inspected other packs along the way but they too did not offer her the things she wanted, so she turned away from their borders. Once again, she ran, traversing the wilderness of rural Canada and living off the occasional hare that she decided to snatch up or the corpses of dead, larger game that had fallen of natural occurrences and clumsy accidents. It had been enough but she wished to feel the thrill of bringing something down that was larger than her with others. Alisa simply wanted to feel overwhelming adrenaline, animal instinct and, most importantly, fresh flesh.
After pushing through a field of red flora that brushed against her in the gentle breeze, the silvery girl had come across a forest of willows. Strange. She had never seen such a large cluster of trees like these before. She’d seen willows dotted around lakes and ponds, in vast forests of evergreen trees but a cluster of them alone? It was intriguing. Even more interesting than that, however, was the smell of borders. She glanced in the direction it came from, gazing into the woodland with her blank, icy stare. It was autumn, wasn’t it? There was a small chill in the air and the yearling knew that winter could—and would—be harsh.
She raised her head, mouth parting as a call escaped her throat. Her dark lips formed a small ‘o’ as her summoning call died out. Lowering her head she stood, rigid and stiff, as she waited for a representative to appear from between the trunks of the trembling willows.