She'd probably eaten something weird. Well, not weird in particular; maybe that rabbit had been a bit sick, or she'd accidentally eaten a few tufts of fur. The point was, Sally's stomach was rolling around more than a little unpleasantly and at the moment she was scratching through the thin layers of snow speckling the woods undergrowth in search of some sort of plant life that she could safely chew on without making her indiestion any worse (and, hopefully, somewhat better). Frowning absently, she flicked her tail as she nosed among the branches over an old, lifeless birch tree stuffed in the midst of so many always greens.

Sally wrinkled her nose. Everything here was dead or dying. Green was the best, she supposed, but she'd make due with the yellowed and yellowing stuff if she had too. With a somewhat absent sigh, the mismatched, patch-colored she wolf kicked away the thin layers of snow from the tines of dead and dying roots just barely poking out from beneath the cold. She nosed the remainer away before, steeling herself against the bland, generally spiny taste of drying grass, she chomped down on the short pieces of grass.

She hadn't seen many of wolves lately, and supposed it was because a majority were tucked safely back in their dens or perhaps simply keeping extraordinarily well hidden in the numbing cold of the snow. She smelled them often, though: sharp tangs against the slick pallate of cold.

Sally continued chewing, one ear flicking absently back and forth.