Swiftcurrent Creek whats comes next,

The morning sun had barely crested the horizon when Morwenna set out, the frost-laden grasses crunching beneath her deliberate steps. Her silvered coat caught the pale light, glinting like a soft beacon as she moved through the heart of Swiftcurrent. The chill air carried the faint scent of others in the pack—steady reminders of the responsibilities that lingered heavy on her shoulders.

@Akavir.

Her thoughts swirled around him like eddies in a restless stream. Before any plan could solidify, before they set out into the unknown, she needed assurance that he was well—not just outwardly, but in spirit. Too many burdens had been borne by her, by those she held dear. Too many lives lost. She could not afford another fracture.

Pausing on a rise, she tipped her head, her sharp eyes scanning the lands below. The terrain, familiar as her own shadow, bore no immediate sign of the silver-coated male. She drew in a breath, catching traces of his scent on the crisp wind. He was not far, but still distant enough to evoke unease.

Morwenna gave a low huff and pressed onward, the stoic determination etched into her movements betraying a flicker of anxiety that gnawed at her heart. When she found him, she would not be subtle. She would ask outright—was he ready for what lay ahead? Was she?

For now, her focus narrowed on her search. She could not leave anything to chance, not with so much at stake.

Tag just for reference.

The fur along his spine bristled—his form bent in a faint twist as he smoothed a tongue over the shallow cut along his shoulder. A stupid mistake—but thankfully one that only led to a moment of irritation.

Pulling back, his ears slid back as he considered—he needed to call a meeting with Arric and Arlette, but he wasn’t keen on popping them out of their wedded bliss of a bubble just yet, even if the to-do list was getting strikingly long.

The appearance of River and four pups was a ringer he hadn’t anticipated.

Muttering a quiet profanity below his breath—the man swung back up to his paws, ebony pelt shaking beneath the oncoming cold winter air. About to turn and trace another round along the borders—maybe explore even further, @Suzu and her missing pup never far from his mind—the graceful sight of Morwenna was caught in the distance, and he stilled only for a moment before the Mayfair began to prowl toward her.

Any greeting he was about to offer held like ash on his tongue at the look on her face. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Morwenna’s golden gaze swept over Akavir, sharp as flint, before softening at the sight of the gash on his shoulder. Her concern flared visibly, the matronly instincts she carried struggling to mask themselves beneath the weight of her ever-worsening worries. She stepped closer, her voice hushed but tinged with urgency.

Suzu… her boy is still missing, she began, her ears twitching back in frustration. I can’t stop thinking about her. The pain she must be feeling—it’s unbearable.

Her eyes flicked to his wound, brow furrowing deeply. And you—what happened here? she asked, her tone a mixture of admonishment and worry. Quite the reckless man, you are.

She turned her gaze briefly to the horizon, her jaw tightening. The disappearance of children—it needs to end, she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. No mother should have to feel this. No family should endure it. She thought of her own. 
 
When she looked back at him, her expression was resolute, though shadows of grief lingered in her eyes. Tell me what we’re going to do, Akavir. How do we make this stop? She would begin to gather herbs from a cache nearby, lingering at the base of a tree stump. His would would need taking care of, and Arlette was not here.

Tags for reference

Concern knit itself upon his roguish features—a step taken toward her, but she was already moving closer. Her countenance was usually one of peace—her voice soothing, without a tremor of upset or nerves. “Morwenna,” he began, but she caught the wound on his shoulder—tutting at him—instantly fretting and drifting away.

“An unfortunate incident involving a rock,” he offered—as brief an explanation as it were. In truth, prior, he had been looking to push stone and blockages away from some of the smaller areas of the creek’s hiding places—anywhere he considered a pup might escape within.

His own jaw set as she continued—missing pup—the first of the Creek’s, but suspicious given recent news…

“We search for her boy,” he answered, shifting his weight, watching her as she continued to gather herbs. It would seem he was a distraction for a moment—something easy that could be fixed, rather than the more heart rendering aspects that could not.

“I take @Lestan with me, and meet with Eivor of Kvarsheim. We begin our first patrol of the valley—to gather what should be looked at during it, the length of time it will take… And then we make our way through the desert, and stop at Muat-riya, then Akashingo and share with them our contribution to their cause and see what assistance they might need for these… rogues. I go to Moonglow and collect my daughter… we come home, and then we begin a rotating patrol of wolves.”

He pauses, studying her. “You wanted to come—you can. Or you can stay, assist @Arric or @Arlette with seeing if Bearclaw Valley will wish to be involved in this as well. Keep an eye on the caribou hunters. They’re encroaching on the valley and one of its bigger resources. Keep an eye out for the boy here. Tend to Suzu... Help your friend you recruited adjust.”

Morwenna froze at his words, the gathering herbs trembling slightly in her grip. Her shoulders tensed, and when she turned to face him, her expression was a mix of frustration and sorrow. It's not enough! she snapped, the words leaving her lips with a sharpness she rarely used.

The moment the words hung in the air, her eyes widened, and the tension in her frame gave way to an immediate apology. I’m sorry, she stammered, her voice softer, wavering. I didn’t mean— She stopped herself, closing her eyes and taking a steadying breath.

This was too familiar, this helplessness. Memories pressed against her mind, unwelcome and painful. Her past, filled with echoes of grief and failure, hovered too close, and she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

She opened her eyes again, steady now, though the weariness lingered in her gaze. What would you like me to do, Akavir? she asked quietly, her tone gentle once more. I’m acquainted with the Saatsine chieftain 'caribou hunters'… Perhaps they would listen to me if I reached out. I can go where you need me—assist with the patrols, watch for the boy.

She trailed off, the question in her eyes plain. Whatever you decide, I will follow. With the herbs she had managed to collect, she creates a salve. It's pasty, but will hold with a patch of moss between her feet.

Hold still, she came closer to him, breath hitching. Please.

A coiled snake—the tension snapped thick in the air—the look she cast on him was raw with emotion, and he studied her—the wilt and apology, the sudden desire to once more seek a task as she continued gathering herbs. He was silent during this—she spoke—talking about Saatsine.

She requested he hold still—he complied. “It’s just a scratch, Morwenna,” he murmured, though he canted his head, looking down to the paste now. Still, shoulder jutted forward in offering, his eyes looking down the slender juncture of her cheekbone. “Talk to me, Morwenna,” he implored quietly—wondering if she would confide in him the worry that wracked her so.

They could discuss everything else after.

Morwenna worked diligently, her focus narrowed to the salve she applied to his cut. Her paws were steady, though her chest rose and fell with quicker breaths. She shushed him sharply with a jerk of her muzzle when he tried to brush off the injury, unwilling to let his dismissive words deflect her. Once the salve was applied, she moved to the moss, picking it from the forest floor with careful deliberation.

Talk to me, he'd plead.

The words stilled her entirely. Her body froze, a deep inhale the only motion she allowed herself. Should she open up? What would she have done if she were still in Evenspire, surrounded by the marble halls and cold expectations of her past life? The answer was clear—she would have shut herself off, drawn a veil over her emotions, and become untouchable.

But she was not in Evenspire anymore. This was Swiftcurrent Creek, and it demanded something else of her. Something foreign, untouched.

Her breath trembled as she exhaled, and she dared to speak: I cannot bear the unknown, she confessed softly, her voice steady at first. If we can find anything out, any information, it is valuable.

She paused, her gaze dropping to the moss in her paw as if it held the strength she lacked. Mine own husband, she began, her voice cracking slightly, time ago... withheld everything from me. Ripped me from my own throne, slaughtered our children.

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head lightly, as if trying to shake away the memory. Burnt them on a stake— Her words faltered before resuming, softer, more broken. That is why I am pushing. If I had known—if I had paid attention, maybe they'd be—

Her voice fractured entirely, and she cut herself off with a quick breath, her jaw tightening as she composed herself. She placed the moss atop his cut with deliberate care, unwilling to meet his gaze just yet. She couldn't.

Even with the quivering nerves that seemed to fray her, tender paws worked diligently upon him, a gentle cooling felt as the salve was applied. His eyes traced the pale star upon her forehead, and he had to refrain from tracing it—the starborn woman.

He believed if he touched her, though, the words she now spoke would desist. That the moment would be shattered and tucked back within—a way that only those who bore tragedy and managed to continue onward knew precariously how to do.

Another puzzle piece slotted into position—the frown that darkened his features was cast toward the sky as she continued to speak—the set of his teeth on edge. For whatever many of them had endured in the creek, this perhaps was the harshest he had heard.

And somehow, she found guilt within herself for one of the creek’s missing pups.

She tended to him in finality—but the cursed man shifted his weight then, eyes tracing toward her, persistent to catch her gaze despite she tried to ignore his. How did one trust anyone, after they endured such a thing?

A paw swept down to tilt her chin up toward him, should she allow it—the press of his forehead to hers—black upon starkissed—his eyes closing for a moment. “Never again. Not here.”

And this—this was why it was important to maintain the peace of the valley—when kingdoms and clans and packs around them remained corrupt in so many ways.