There was no response in the quiet wood, and she allowed her eyes to pass the brush. Perhaps the creature had simply passed through it. Sighing, her muscled relaxed and she lowered her bow further. She wasn't determined to pick a fight with the wolf, but the guilt still hung in the back of her mind. For its story, the wolf was not the monster the hunters made it out to be--perhaps it wasn't even the same beast. She glanced back the way she had came, mind wandering to the strangers by the water. The path was quiet and her paranoia toward them subdued slightly; they didn't seem to mean her harm. 

Deciding that she would continue her hunt, Cassandra continued forward and pass the brush where the creature hid. Even if she didn't find the wolf again, she didn't want to return home empty handed. Hunting was her way of life, and on the rare days where she did return without a trophy, she felt judgement in her father's hard eyes. She shook her head free of the wandering thoughts. "Focus, Cassandra," she said to herself in a firm whisper.