Swiftcurrent Creek The Small Print

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.