Dragoncrest Cliffs heaven will be a grand piano of baked potatoes

Furi wakes the next morning feeling a little agitated but she’s not entirely sure where. Nothing sticks out of her mind to have been wrong but she’d tossed and turned all night, shifting at the slightest change around her. Her eyes are heavy but she forces herself to get up anyway and try to sort out the tension building in her shoulders.

The day is cool, the wind from the sea dropping the temperature a few degrees, and she’s thankful for the thick fur building around her neck and shoulders. The tundra runs through her veins and she does not bat an eye at the chill that nips at her toes. It does not explain her lack of sleep and sudden discomfort as parts of her skin feel… on fire. Her brows knit together and she groans, rubbing her shoulder and side against the nearest redwood, satisfying the urge to tear apart her skin for the time being.

The irritation doesn’t quite go away but she’s able to move back through the forest, locking on a scent of a wolf she hadn’t really met face to face. He’d been there each time the wolves had come together near Blixen and another. @Artaax, she thinks, and she continues to trail it until she finds him.