Sarkish Ways for Sarkish Days

Tyrande chuckled, moving across her large cavern.

The cavern was circular, big enough to house about fifteen wolves. On the far right was her small ledge where her clay pot sat. In the back was a small crevace leading to small, moist room where she kept her clay stock. Back in the cavern, on the left, was a small, hallow indention in the wall, lined by stone and clay. Here, she kept her herbs that she used to mush into a pulp to make "paint" for her pots. Next to that was yet a deeper indention in the cavern. On the floor there, there was a spot that was circled by smooth river stones, which was her bed, which was composed of leaves and soft, dried moss. The entire den was dimly lit by the eerie light a special species of moss let off. The entrance was half blocked by a bolder, so that only about two average-sized wolves could come in at the same time.

"I doubt you'll find much to entertain yourself here, Sitri." she said, grabbing her gnaw bone and carving a small circle next to a previously made notch. "The most I could offer you with is where to avoid thistle patches, and what berries not to accidentally swallow."