Tuwa is never going to visit other packs, haha, such an unadventurous soul.
A frost at dawn reclaimed Swiftcurrent for Winter as an uneasy chill sat in the air. Smarter creatures burrowed beneath the hardened ground to keep warm, but a crimson wolf stirred in the marshlands, North of Fox's keep, hunting to refill the caches the creek pack had depleted the days prior. Her sinew did not stretch easily in this inclement weather, pelt coated by thin strands of ice that caused her to move slowly about the murky mire. Soon her limbs grew cold, elbows deeply seated in thick mud, and so the Zeta had no choice but to turn back South fruitless, hungry, and frozen. Even a small muskrat would have done well to feed their bellies — but this wilderness was not wellknown to be especially kind.
Tuwawi huffed as she moved rigidly, parallel to the small river that cut aggresively through the center of their territory. Her weathered expression watched the water suspiciously; the low babbling noises sounding
too friendly juxtaposed in this chilled and haunted morning. Tuwawi groaned. How her body ached from their grapple with the lion, figure now lean beneath lifeless hair. She had worked hard for Swiftcurrent. Her promises had been kept. But the satisfaction was trivial with Njal bedridden, marred by a beast their leader had purposely stirred.
Mud plastered her legs and belly in an unforgiving way. It kept the chill close to her skin, and even though she shook herself it would not detach. The road back to their den would be tiresome... and even then she would only be able to claim a few hours rest before returning to the hunt. Idly, Tuwawi poked at a clump of heather and wondered if it contained any medicinal value... but she quickly dismissed it. It was far too common to earn itself any special properties. The woman sighed, heart heavy as she found comfort only in the thought of Njal's soft gaze, and the memory of his alpine scent.
Determined to return with something to show for her efforts, Tuwawi scoured for a stray cache a pack mate had planted. The few which had been buried in the vicinity of their den had all been drained; and she had yet to strategically place others close to their home. Her search caused the route to shift east, giving the den a wide birth, but this too ended in disappointment. The frozen ground had done little to suspend the meat's freshness. It was not much, but it would have to do. A rancid meal was the least of her troubles.
Tuwawi settled into a loping gait as she traveled with the prize fixed between her jaws. Weathered paws made easy work of the well work trail, although her posture mirrored the gloomy mood that floated overhead. The image of Jinx scalded her tumultuous mind, the thoughts obtrusive and unwelcome. Why would she remember that sight at a time like this? Njal had not been present to witness the aftermath of the gamma's miscarried litter.... Lifeless and bloody babes who had not stirred beneath the pale woman's haunches following the lion's assault. It was the worst fear of any mother — of any woman, and Tuwawi couldn't help but wonder why Jinx had thrown herself into the situation in the first place. Even Tuwawi could not admit she would risk unborn lives for an alpha; as greedy and selfish as that was. Yet, the devotion of a follower to a leader was an ancient bond. If Jinx had not been there... Fox, and perhaps even Haunter, would have perished. Soon, when Njal was on the mend, Tuwawi would make sure to visit with the grieving mother.
A long while passed before she arrived back at the Sveijarn burrow — however something was amiss. She approached the opening with an air of well-placed hesitation; for the den was empty when she peeked inside. Concern washed over the norther's wife. Surely Njal was not well enough to be out? After depositing the rank flesh in the rear of the burrow, Tuwawi waited... and waited. She hovered for many minutes, trusting Njal would return. Perhaps he was out for a breath of fresh air? Yet, when he did not, and his scent became weak, she took up the hunt.
He was easy to track at first, but the trail appeared to switch directions erratically without much reason. The pace quickened as urgency flooded her chest; concern weaseling its way into her psyche. At one point his aroma disappeared completely, only to realize he had somehow swept himself beneath a pine. Short, quick strides transformed into large gallops until, finally, Njal's figure became exposed in the wood. "Njal!" she called as she moved besides him, "why did you leave the den?". Tuwawi's shoulder pressed meekly into his, fire dampened by the cold morning and somber thoughts. Her husband felt distant in this moment, and she struggled figure out what exactly unhinged him. "We should go home," his phoenix suggested, hip gently moving his loin as if to turn him in about-face. Then, and ever slowly, her tongue caressed the length of Njal's jaw, wishing to elicit anything other than gloom. Anything to inspire the day that, had otherwise, gone all wrong.
The vapid, distant look in Njal's molten eyes sent a shiver of unease down Tuwawi's spine. At first he was unresponsive to her question and plea, but she couldn't understand exactly why. Injuries to the head were often accompanied by their own set of complications, but the young wife couldn't — wouldn't — draw any parallels; unwilling to face that perhaps his injuries went beyond those that could be seen. She tried to remain patient, although a wary anxiety bubbled in her gut. Eventually he seemed to come to. 'Tuwawi,' Njal uttered beneath his breath as his gaze became lucid, almost startled by her presence. It caused Tuwawi's snarled tail to curve like a sickle between her muddy hocks, uncertain by his tone and movements.
'I couldn't find you,' he said. At this, his wife frowned. "I'm sorry... I was hunting in the marsh," she tried to explain, "I didn't realize I was gone for so long." In reality she hadn't been away for a unreasonable amount of time, but Njal's perception appeared to be askew. Their faces pressed together in an intimate greeting, but it was short lived. Tuwawi's eyes darted away, voice rippling with frustration, "I caught nothing," she admitted. As a normally skilled huntress, the red woman was loathe to return empty handed, "but I found an old meal that had been stashed by someone else. It's in the den. It will have to do for now." Perhaps another in Swiftcurrent's ranks had been saving the meat for a different occasion, but Tuwawi thought it moot. Njal needed it most, now.
Despite the casual small talk, the ember's words rolled out flat while her mind became preoccupied by other thoughts. She stepped closer to him, muzzle burying deep into his bespeckled sterling fringe to roughly comb at his hair betwixt clenched teeth. The scent of blood was fading now, and his wound appeared to be healing without complication. His skin was not feverish, but its usual warmth still shocked her nose, always enticing... but more so these days. A shameless eye flickered up towards her mate's face "How is your head?" she asked, snout still encompassed by Njal's thick ruff. Small puffs of warm breath tickled at his hair, Tuwawi's posture relaxing now that they had found each other.