Swiftcurrent Creek To Hold and Ocean

At first there was silence, but a faint shuffle of his body against the Earth confirmed that he was in there — tucked away from the forest's prying eyes. Unexpectedly, a low growl accompanied his movements, which caused Tuwawi to take a step back. Did he want to be left in peace? Although the thought stung her, the fire woman could not blame him if he did. The day had been long... and their efforts draining. However, the urge to tend to her husband overcame the ember, and slowly she slipped in to the darkness of their home, all the while moving with caution as to not upset him further.

"Njal, its me," she whispered beneath baited breath, "Tuwa." Her pupils dilated like full moons to compensate for the lack of light. Yet, even then his figure was hard to see, back lit by only the smallest ray that dared trespass in the wolves' refuge. She could make out his crumpled form, and a slick wetness on his brow. Some if it was partially dried as well; caked and crumbling in an effort to heal. One of his ears was stunted, bent horribly to compensate for the pain. Even the side of his face appeared swollen. Had the cat's bottom fags gotten him too?

A heavy sigh exhaled from deep within her chest. She hurt for him. "Oh, Njal—" she cooed, loathe to see her husband in such a state, "my Palestrike." The leather on Tuwawi's nose brushed against the good side of his muzzle, testing the mountain wolf's tolerance for contact. Soft puffs of her warm breath ebbed at his fur, wanting to pull him close. Otherwise, she gave him space.