Swiftcurrent Creek The Small Print

The vapid, distant look in Njal's molten eyes sent a shiver of unease down Tuwawi's spine. At first he was unresponsive to her question and plea, but she couldn't understand exactly why. Injuries to the head were often accompanied by their own set of complications, but the young wife couldn't — wouldn't — draw any parallels; unwilling to face that perhaps his injuries went beyond those that could be seen. She tried to remain patient, although a wary anxiety bubbled in her gut. Eventually he seemed to come to. 'Tuwawi,' Njal uttered beneath his breath as his gaze became lucid, almost startled by her presence. It caused Tuwawi's snarled tail to curve like a sickle between her muddy hocks, uncertain by his tone and movements.

'I couldn't find you,' he said. At this, his wife frowned. "I'm sorry... I was hunting in the marsh," she tried to explain, "I didn't realize I was gone for so long." In reality she hadn't been away for a unreasonable amount of time, but Njal's perception appeared to be askew. Their faces pressed together in an intimate greeting, but it was short lived. Tuwawi's eyes darted away, voice rippling with frustration, "I caught nothing," she admitted. As a normally skilled huntress, the red woman was loathe to return empty handed, "but I found an old meal that had been stashed by someone else. It's in the den. It will have to do for now." Perhaps another in Swiftcurrent's ranks had been saving the meat for a different occasion, but Tuwawi thought it moot. Njal needed it most, now.

Despite the casual small talk, the ember's words rolled out flat while her mind became preoccupied by other thoughts. She stepped closer to him, muzzle burying deep into his bespeckled sterling fringe to roughly comb at his hair betwixt clenched teeth. The scent of blood was fading now, and his wound appeared to be healing without complication. His skin was not feverish, but its usual warmth still shocked her nose, always enticing... but more so these days. A shameless eye flickered up towards her mate's face "How is your head?" she asked, snout still encompassed by Njal's thick ruff. Small puffs of warm breath tickled at his hair, Tuwawi's posture relaxing now that they had found each other.