Swiftcurrent Creek that noble and most sovereign reason

the grouse she swung from her jaws spoke plainly of the lushness of the season, life returned to occupy all corners of the wild. frail and new did the canopy turn slowly toward the sun, and below, life was in the midst of its frantic coupling, and each hour new life came in some form to the world. some would die before they grew old, others would come to take their place in the great symphony that was life. 

her back itched terribly as her coat sought to replace itself, and she stopped often to press against trees in her slow walk toward the heart of the territory. she left tufts and scraggly bits of fur wherever she went, though she suspected her summer coat would be hardly much of a change from the absurdly thick winter's mantle that seemed better suited to life in the far north. pausing, she pressed against a sapling that bent and jolted, the canopy atop it quivering. with a huph, she continued on her way.

:eyes:

Helios is perplexed by the change. Weather grows warm; storms and rain abundant, as it replaces snow. All conditions he has learned the words of thanks to Kavik, and perhaps he should ask his mothers what the French equivalent is; a thought to keep stored in the back of his mind.

As seasons change, and he grows older, his coat noticeably changes with it. Once pitch black and then showing patches of brown, his fur is starting to hold a golden sheen—most noteworthy whenever the sunlight hit it just right. Perhaps that is another reason for Helios to avoid his namesake.

He travels through the Creek's undergrowth, sticking to the shadows as best as the boy could. The splintering of a sapling is watch catches his attention first; head whips alert in the direction. A silver wolf, with a strange looking bird in her jaws. One of their members, he assumes, and decides to investigate. The raven approaches.

« Who are you? » He asks in French.

she has barely put distance between herself an the sapling when a child inserts himself in her path, young still and hardly older than a couple months. she's immediately somewhat more alert - the last batch of youngsters at Morningside had been more than difficult to raise and it's made her somewhat more wary of children around this one's age. 

the language he speaks is not unfamiliar - she'd bothered Kieran enough in their youth to teach her a few words, but in all honesty, languages have not been her strong suit. "dawn," she offers, and arches a brow. "I don't speak french."