Coyotl - Maura Tribe - Shaman - Mentions: none, open

On second thought, it may be a while before he would have the chance to hunt again, so Coyotl wolfed his fresh-killed rabbit down his gullet, cleaning the meat off the bones with his teeth before licking the blood off his muzzle. Before leaving the den, he made sure to grab his trusty silver dagger and a pair of shears for harvesting herbs. Now ready, Coyotl set off on his mission towards the dreaded marsh.

He made good headway throughout the morning, steadily jogging through the pine forests and breaking into the ocassional canter like a playful fawn. Serious as he was about his job, he hadn’t totally lost his sense of fun, and besides, the exercise was well warranted. By noon, he’d slowed down his pace as his fur growing heated under the midday sun.

He knew the layout of the land like the back of his paw and had thus far done his best to skirt the other tribe territories along his journey. Though the tribes weren’t typically hostile towards lone wolves, he preferred to avoid any awkward confrontation. Still, unless he would rather take a swim through the broad river (and he had no fondness for water), he’d have to cut corners on Cairn’s golden fields to get to the stone path crossing. As he approached the foreign territory, he paused to mask his scent with a herb poultice. Hopefully at this time of the day, the predators would be drowsier than usual and he could avoid detection by scouts. The oceans of grass were deep enough to conceal his entire body, but he happened to startle a flock of foraging sparrows as he slunk through the vegetation.