She could not truly name what possessed her to leave her dozing children, though that in itself was a lie. 

Another dream. A nightmare, of things past.

A man, as dark as her dear son of twilight, who was meant to protect her but had only stolen what was not his to take. A huge silhouette of white he-wolf, lip curled in disgust. A den full of smashed toys and ripped pelts, her carefully crafted paints flung like blood against the walls of what had once been a happy home -- if only briefly. A monstrous shadow, glinting eyes and claws raking through her flesh. 

She had woken not with a thrash or wrenching gasp. The cloudberry had merely opened her eyes, heart racing until she remembered where and who she was. 

Anaa. Second wife. Sistraa. Nuiruk. Lótë.

She was safe now. Despite this fact, something clawed beneath her skin until she could no longer find refuge, even surrounded by her growing children (those who had chosen to den at her hearth for the night) and stepchildren. 

Silently, the bear-marked woman had risen and drifted from her ulaq to wind through the sleeping village. Her wandering led her down from the heights of the Spine's ring of protective peaks, to the foothills of their borders and beyond. 

Aiwë had simply been cooped up too long as she healed from her ordeal in the Sunspire, or so she attributed the claustrophobia that sent her from their home. She only needed an hour or two to breathe. To be alone and release the knot tightening beneath her breastbone. 

Her stride lengthened, growing fiercer and wilder as she left the Spine behind, until she was sprinting across the dark plains. 

The herd stalker stopped only when it felt her lungs might burst, when her leg began to burn from the misuse of not running in moons. Panting, she cast pale peridots around to survey her surroundings. 

After a heartbeat, she recognized the Glen. It was here she had met...Meerkat? No. Fennec? Maybe. This was where Keyni had come from, she recalled with a brief stab of pain for her lost friend. 

It was a shock to realize much of the territory had recovered from the star's fall. How quickly the land had bounced back, even after being torn asunder. The mother mused on it as she began to drift amongst the trees aimlessly. The sky broke open, a light drizzle falling as the bird-watcher padded through the woodland, sheltered (mostly) from the rain by the moss trailing from the canopy. 

If only she could bounce back from being torn apart half as quickly.

Lótë gave a small start of surprise, gaze darting to the man as he rose from the shadows amongst the trees. The dove was a diminutive woman but she felt fairly dwarfed as she drew nearer to converse with the dark silhouette. 

He seemed amicable, which is what pulled the ecologist closer. Even so, the wary way in which she held her slight frame did not completely slacken. Nor did her eyes and auds entirely raise -- wondering if perhaps it was a front.

"That's alright," Aiwë demurred reassuringly. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I didn't realize anyone was living here -- or sleeping here." 

"I'm Lótë Nuiruk of village Moonglow," the doe introduced herself liltingly, silver-misted crown dipping slightly. Peridots darted up to meet sapphire bravely before flitting back to her paws. 

"I was just enjoying the night, just needed to stretch my legs," she added, recalling his question about wandering in the rain. The mother's heart stuttered in embarrassment. "I hadn't really been expecting the rain," the bird-caller explained, somewhat lamely.