Dragoncrest Cliffs leave me a literature of toothmarks & tongue-tracks

Wildfire was sleeping off a huge breakfast—and a week of raging hormones, which had finally wound down the previous day—when her loved ones rallied at the borders, finally home from their arduous war effort on her behalf. If anyone called, she didn't wake. When a careworn Heda sloped up to the doorway of her tree hideaway, Wildfire finally blinked awake. Unaware of what had roused her, she stretched luxuriously and yawned, inhaling deeply and drawing in the scent of her dearest loved one (aside from their children).

"Thur!" she screeched loud enough to startle a nearby flock of birds into the air. She threw herself at the commander, though she kept her touches gentle as she nosed Thuringwethil all over, making sure she was in one piece. "You're back!" she blurted stupidly. She was back and she was alive, though Wildfire could see that she needed food, rest and a medic, not necessarily in that order.

After establishing the fact that Portia hadn't seen to her yet and that all she wanted right now was to sleep, Wildfire urged Thuringwethil into the tree. She wanted to stay there with her, of course, but the Heda would need food and medicine. Besides, there was an entire war party to welcome back, which included Artaax and Blixen. Feeling extremely torn about it, the Feisripa bent to kiss her mate's forehead before spinning on a heel and charging toward the borders.

"Artaax! Blixen!" she cried as soon as the gathering came into view ahead, causing a squirrel to chastise her from a nearby tree. She was happy to see the others, of course, but all of Wildfire's attention went to her two eldest children as she raced toward them.