Dragoncrest Cliffs of war, of blood, of death, of beauty

Furi wakes up most mornings with a looming feeling of dread and often takes a few hours to fade away. She spends more time on the borders than she did before the war, marking where it is weak and keeping an eye on changes. She tries to have someone with her, if only in case something happens, but she prefers the times when she is alone and she doesn’t have to worry about what her companion is thinking about—or often talking about—and she can try to sort things on her own and exist without shaping herself a certain way.
 
Today, she does not get the luxury of being along with @Blixen at her side. Furi does not mind the company, if anything she still enjoys it (most of the time, anyway). The fiery girl is chattering on about something and Furi is only half listening, staring hard ahead of her. A blip of brown cuts into her peripheral and she turns immediately, cutting her friend off and running after it. Her fur bristles, ears slick back, and she easily catches up to a very angry Eske.
 
“Wanlida?” she calls, glancing back over her shoulder to see if Blixen followed along, but she swings back quickly to observe. From her position, she doesn’t see the collar through the thick of bristled fur along her nape but she slows to a stop shortly behind her.