Hushed Willows Here's where you're wrong: she was already perfect.

Sleep had been hard to come by lately. Ever since the arrival of Harlyn and the gang, actually. There was no good reason for it that she could think of, unless she considered the exuberance of her son in the equation; regardless of exactly why Tavi had become more of an insomniac, she tried to fight the condition with the aids of Grace's herbs. She pilfered some without asking, feeling it was her inalienable right as a leader to take what she needed. That had gotten her through some of the nights, leaving her with vivid dreams that went out of her head like a cloud come  morning. 

Today, when she woke, it was the afternoon. Somehow Tavi had slept through her early morning routine despite Tambourine's greatest efforts to wake her, and she was pulling herself free of the dark, dank cave. As she passed through a mote of sunlight and dust she ducked out from the Crook, and was then situated outside of the sanctum, having been too sleepy and groggy to notice the wonderful surprise that Stark had left her. She wandered off to do her business, and was then briskly returning to the Crook when the scent of fresh blood caught in her nose. The woman's fur prickled and yet she stopped, oddly bereft, and idled where she was.