Swiftcurrent Creek [m] Atlantic

Sleep would not be so kind - for another beast waited just outside of the well perfumed den, eager to have it's way with the woman. With the sky drawn and overcast with grey clouds, the stars were hidden - but he could feel them there, watching. Looming from the heavens. Njal imagined that a great red streak was cavorting between them - in his newly awakened imagination, the northblood thought he saw a red glow take to the sky. Ominous but warm. He did not realize it was the onset of a blood moon, whose strength was so strong that even the clouds could not mask it in entirety.

The man had returned to the territory that morning and spend the day on a hunt. Tuwawi held a distinct scent which propelled him, but each turn proved to be in error. She had become a slick creature in his absence, able to meld in to the trees where they rooted and remain hidden. But he could smell her and his need was great - his lust unhindered by propriety any longer, as Fox had long ago given them the go-ahead. In his time away Njal had grown hungry for her, and now that he had returned, nothing would stop him.

And she was there. Hidden behind the bitter scent of green and the bright aroma of freshly picked flowers. The man sought her out with his head held high, watching the drifting red which came to sit above their den, as if to bless their oncoming union. Where Njal had once been nervous and awkward, the excursion across the territory had left him starved for his wife's attention - he did not care about how things worked, nor was he afraid that things would go wrong. He beset his gaze upon the mouth of the den and launched himself towards it, sliding his beryl-streaked body in to the shadows. She was curled in the dark, most likely not expecting him to return. With a murmuring rumble and a loving nudge to her ruddy fur, Njal tried to rouse her.