Rook

At the northern edge of the territory a huntress was loping. These lands were new to her, but not unlike any of her previous dwelling places. Rook liked it here. The trees blocked the wind and provided shadows to bask and hide in, there was a cool stream for drinking from, and the sun was warm. And more, any wolfsign was far-off and many days old.

The battlescarred she-wolf paused her traveling, scanning the wood. Yes, it would do quite nicely. Her gray muzzle tipped toward the night sky and from her throat rose a growl, and the growl evolved into a wailing cry of uncertain claimage. Thus her song went:

"Bones and blood, blood and bones,
Rook's found a place to call her home
And if any would denounce her place
Now let them come and show their face!"