Swiftcurrent Creek The Small Print

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.

Spring must have been farther away than anyone realized, for when the wind licked at the den mouth that morning, it was chilled. Perhaps it was the absence of the woman that made things seem more frigid. Without her there beside him, Njal felt the lethargic winter as it tried to creep back in to his bones.

Outside, the trees creaked and moaned. They held their own apprehension about the weather, or so it seemed. Dragging their arms against one another in a tired embrace, their branches finger-like as they grappled with their neighbours; some squealing in delight with every subtle shift of the wind. Inside the earth the man lay in wait for Tuwawi's return; but she was gone for a long time. His sense of time was warped by the throbbing in his head - and to make up for it, Njal tried to count things.

He tried to time how often the trees called out, initially. The randomness of the sounds helped to tick the time away, but still, no Tuwawi. Next were the howling winds as they picked up and tried to blow the clouds awry, blowing across the den mouth as if it were some sort of instrument; alas, that was too chilling for the man to keep his focus. When a gust did arrive it would slink in to the den and tug at his skin, numb it, and then escape once more.

Njal shifted every few hours. Then every few minutes, growing antsy and eager for his mate's arrival back home. Eventually he faced his fear of the world outside and staggered out of the den. Slinking through the dirt, squinting at the pale light of the day, and then slumping to his rear. At first there was only light and Njal winced with his head quickly ducking; it had only been a couple of days since the cougar attack (or so he thought, but such an assumption could have been wrong) and his eyes had grown accustomed to the dark. He was determined to find Tuwawi though - and so he stood and began to prowl.

Every sound that Njal had previously been counting, became a small threat. The trees cackled and screeched around him and each new wail made him turn sharply, or pivot his ears. He moved in an irregular pattern away from the den and towards Tuwawi's lingering scent, far slower than his usual pace, as a strange apprehension made him nervous and slow. It was strange, but Njal did not know that anything was wrong with himself; truly, he thought the world around him had gone a little mad. It had all started with that damn cougar.

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 scent of pine was pervasive now. It staunchly opposed the airy chill that drifted around him; almost physical in the manner which it enrobed his figure. Njal paced awkwardly. His nose was burrowed in to the bare soil at his paws and he breathed deep inhalations of the soil - searching for Tuwawi and finding nothing. He snorted as he lifted his head clear of the dirt and the action sent loose debris flying from him. In the next moment Njal was picking up his pace and twisting, doubling back over the trail he had created; thinking perhaps he had just missed her. By doing this he was in actuality becoming more lost; thrusting himself in through a grove of sparse trees and rounding his platinum body along one ragged trunk. The man belched a dissatisfied call, barking in to the morning light (not realizing how much time had passed between his exit from the den and beyond).

Almost as a response, a voice rose around him. It sounded like it came from the trees themselves. "why did you leave the den?" It was clear but disembodied. Familiar enough to make him snap his head around and pivot. Tuwawi drifted by him like a ghost, pressing herself against his fur without a response from him. Njal remained sullen and quiet, feeling a heated anger course through his system. It was thick and dark like old blood, slipping along beneath the sinew of his flesh and collecting in his head, where it throbbed and began to pound like a drum. The man lifted his lips as he spied the trees. He marched around them with stiff legs and a raised spine, intent on finding the owner of the voice. As if to taunt, it came again. "We should go home,"

Snap. A twig or a branch from above. Maybe something internal that only he could sense - and Njal was back to himself. The woman was a signal fire and he, lost in the sea. "Tuwawi," He muttered with a subtle surprise. His wife's name eased from his lips while she slid her tongue across his jaw, and in return the man pressed his cheek to her's. There was a small amount of confusion festering within him now, and had he the ability, he would have been flushed and pink-cheeked by it. "I couldn't find you." Njal responded a moment later, as if that was all the information she needed. It was all he could give at this point. The feeling of anger and hostility had slipped away with her touch, as did the memory of his wandering. All he knew now was that they were together - in a strange place, but together.

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.

Tuwawi rattled off a series of statements that made little sense to Njal; something about food, about plundering a cache, being lost, not finding someone. It mattered little to him in those first few moments. But he came back to himself. He held her close, comforted by the familiarity that she possessed; he was about to speak when his stomach roared, and gave away true sentiment. Yes, perhaps that was why he had wandered. The caches around their den had been depleted and it was his duty to replenish them. Her question about his head went by without a single trace of recognition - and the beastly man, this thing which stood where Njal should have been, blinked blankly at the red woman. "I am hungry, let us hunt." For is that not what wolves did? Chase prey, corral it, take it down?

He stepped away from her then. Uncoiling briskly from her. Staggering. The man swallowed what felt like a stone in his throat, and tasted dryness; followed swiftly by a heat that spread across his forehead. It felt like tired muscle, like a yawn being held within the lungs, a pressure but not a grand one. Enough to make him pause and reconsider, to adjust his steps and fall towards Tuwawi for support. He rested his head upon her shoulders - across them - and in that way, breathed her in. "There are small things in the trees," he rumbled cryptically. Ears flicked to the sides at first, then back, then forward; unable to contend with the feeling of being watched as it grew inside of him. But he remained close to Tuwawi, affording her warmth with his body, while his mind travelled. "Rabbits and the like, near the river. Why would you go to the marsh?" The man asked with a pointed scoff, sounding incredulous and sharp in his disdain. "You could freeze out there. Then I'd be alone."