Sun Mote Copse world's water

Tuwawi observed the ruddy nymph with a critical gaze as her silver eyes traced the vestal beauty. Her belly's uptuck was narrow and taught, body svelte and elegant -- a virgin maiden entering her prime. The ember's figure had become more wholesome with age. A certain paunch padded her figure: a token from motherhood. 

"Your scent," the Sveijarn answered frankly, for it was pungant in the air. Capricious envy sent a sudden shiver down Tuwawi's spine. She could chase out this foreigner and claim the copse as her own. Find followers. Recreate the family she had lost -- for that was a misfortune the red woman had never truly recovered from.

Her tongue pressed against her incisors thoughtfully as the stranger approached to take scent. Tuwawi stood still and wiffed at the other's perfume even though it already overwhelmed the air. She coveted it for herself.