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.