Swiftcurrent Creek pack activity · spring festival

The wolves who filed in seemed just as somber as her, with the exception of one tawny male. Njal was first to come, and rising to the occasion of his better (for now), the grieving woman shot him a pointed glare to impose her superiority. It was averted when the others, particularly Haunter (she would not think of that night), trickled in, and then Fox was speaking and she had little time to reflect further on Njal's challenge, nor how she had kicked his ass.

The tawny male was next to speak, rolling onto the ground like some sort of child. Ordinarily, Jinx might have thought nothing of it, that being something wolves commonly did... In her negative mood, however, she could only scoff silently. He seemed transfixed by his own tail, and Jinx decided he was probably mentally unsound, behaving so baby-like. It never occurred to her that a prevailing sense of loss and desperation had made her project the blame for her miscarriage on any wolf that so much as glanced at her the wrong way... She was the unsound one, to be sure.

Haunter went next, using his own famous brand of nonchalance mixed with sarcasm, or at least that's how she read it. Unable to come up with any particular thing she might look forward to, as it seemed hard to look forward when she was so busy glancing back, she rolled her shoulders in a gruff shrug. "Whale Moon," the woman vaguely offered, failing to explain what Whale Moon was or what it meant. It was her most favourite season, for even as an adolescent she had loved setting out sweet things for the bugs on the Night of Singing Insects, and intoxicating feasts for astral projection had always made her feel strong and yet at ease. She had loved it so, and if anything looked forward to that, though it would not be spent with Shearwater as it ought to be.