Swiftcurrent Creek [m] Atlantic

No signs of winter remained, and the creek's territory had become lush with blooms of every kind. It was a place that needed protecting; and so, in her mate's absence, Tuwawi had taken up his patrol in lieu of her usual hunting. It was a draining task, and one she found rather uninteresting, but it was all the young wife could do to keep her mind preoccupied. Njal was only away on business, she knew, but his leave had left her unsettled. She felt like a waif, with few things anchoring her in this state. Yet, like an ever burning flame, she endured these sentiments. However, a distinct lack of participation in pack affairs was apparent. Tuwawi had withdrawn herself, preferring to wander the days and nights alone as she waited for her other half's return.

This lack of presence wasn't preformed strictly on purpose. Certain chemicals and conditions boiled beneath her surface — an enticing mix nature had crafted too well — and a particular sensitivity to others left the dame with the penchant to remain undiscovered. In her spare time Tuwawi shuttled small treasure from the meadow to their copse of young beechs: wild flowers flowers, stems of heather, and other trinkets she found. Nesting was only a small part of her womanly... affliction... as instinct told her to prepare a suitable home for the coming season.

That morning, rays of light crept into the den at an unreasonable hour as the sun began to rise earlier and earlier. The day was long, and by dusk the phoenix found herself retreating to their den dug from the Earth's loam, tired from her long patrol. She had circled the entirety of the Southeastern border thrice, not wanting to venture too far; and it was enough to make her weary. Now, but a small puff of fur in the recesses of their home, Tuwawi waited for sleep to take her.