A/N: Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, a51 - 200 word drabble.
Fleeing with the Wolves
She picks up a scent that makes her stomach roll and her pack mates howl. She smells fire and blood and metal: the things that drown out the sweet forest air, the dim puddles that splashed beneath their feet and the water that clings to their fur. Wet fur after the midwinter: that was the scent they rolled in, with the new green shoots springing out from beneath dead winter grass. That was what they lived with, what they enjoyed.
But that smell had blown south, upon them, and all at once unease spread amongst them. Their fur stood up, their happy sounds faded into nervous growls.
Humans. The dreaded thought spreads through their pack, making their guts lurch. Humans are coming. Humans with their guns and their blood-soaked skin and ash-covered clothes.
Another blast of wind, and it comes closer, stronger. They shift uneasily, and suddenly the youngest pup springs into action, fleeting to the fresher air up north. There are growls and snaps and the rest of them are following: a wave of warm fur-clad wolves chasing each other's tails as they fled from the human trail.
She is a wolf as well, running along with her pack.