The Timberwolf is a dying breed. They've been on the verge of extinction for years, and any effort to study them was thwarted by the forest.
Ten wolves remained, each starved for blood. It didn't matter whose or what's.
Suddenly, as they slunk in the shadows, the eldest among them snapped his head up.
The beta male slunk up next to him. "What do you smell, Elm?"
"Three ponies have entered our forest..."
The beta licked his lips. "Fresh meat...and blood...at long last, we can eat..."
"Calm yourself, Locust. We must surprise them if we wish to eat them."
"Where are they headed?" The gamma asked.
Elm sniffed the ground. "They are confused... they don't know. My guess, Ash, would be that they're heading to visit the Striped One."
"Ah....shall we get there first?"
"Of course we should."
Elm gave a short bark, and the timberwolves followed him into the night.