Swiftcurrent Creek samba master

Solène had passed several days since her arrival in Swiftcurrent Creek familiarizing herself with the lands she could now call home. She did not yet feel entirely at home within them, but she was beginning to learn the trails most frequently trod by her packmates, and she was without concious effort beginning to establish daily routines. The namesake creek itself was central to life here, she was finding. Small meals could often be found along its banks, whether the prey be rabbits foraging for the earliest shoots of spring grass beneath the lingering dust of snow, or squirrels chasing each other through the leafless underbrush. Even fish could occasionally be seen, though not caught at this time of the year, curves of silver beneath thin patches of ice that remained along the creek's shallow edges. Water, of course, was vital to survival, and there were many places where a tiny stream broke away from the creek proper to swish away and eventually form a calm pool deeper in the pack's wooded territory.

From the scent of it, the creek was also a place to socialize, for many scent trails criss-crossed and overlapped along its path through the territory. Solène had not infrequently nosed the traces of other pack members. Sometimes, she caught Lethe's scent, and sometimes, Fox's. The names of the others were unknown, and for a little while, at least, Solène had avoided those she did not know. Now, however, she was growing more comfortable, and so when the form of another came into sight along the creekbank, traveling towards her, Solène did not quickly redirect her course or find another path through the woods to avoid interaction. Instead the de Joie female kept padding along at a fair pace, moderating her ears, head, and tail so as to look neither aggressive nor dominant, simply her neutral and unassuming self. (For one trained from childhood to behave haughtily and imperiously, Solène often wondered how convincing she'd ever been at it, for she rarely felt as bossy and self-serving as Theomund had demanded she be. She was but a vessel for his own greedy desires.) "Good day, citoyenne," was Solène's greeting as she came within what she thought was earshot of a female both larger and paler than she; emerald gaze was cast down to the other's dark paws. The Iota's tail flickered in an appropriately nervous and subservient gesture.