Heron Lake Plateau Never mind the slacks and bashers

Thugh Niamh didn't want to go far from her den, she had to leave it every now and again either to eat or drink. She would do a partial patrol- just around an edge of the pack's territory, before returning to her feather-filled den once more. Her main target, for prey, was still birds of any kind, but particularly ducks or geese, who'd begun to lay their eggs along the banks of the lake, simply because she liked the taste of them, and she also used the feathers in her den...Which had gone from being organized and actually quite stunningly decorated with pretty and colourful feathers, to becoming a mess of fluff and down. 

She felt angry whenever she did it, but she continued to add the feathers and down to her den, pushing them in and around @Screech's prone body so that he lay upon a bed of down which grew into a nest as she continued to add feathers around him. She didn't care to organize the feathers by colour anymore- and what had once been her personal, beautiful collection of feathers had also been thrown into the pile- she could always catch more birds and start her collection over. Right now, she went into a feverish maternal mode, and had to build a nest for Screech. There wasn't anything else she could do. 

"I'm going out for a drink. Don't go anywhere, dipshit. But you better be awake when I get back," She warned, though her voice softened with the threat. She meant it- she wanted him to wake up. The guilt ate at her, and part of her still wanted him to wake up so she could tell him how unfair it was that he chose to headbutt her, and then make her worry about him. He'd also screwed up her tracking mission, with that particular herd of elk. She'd told him that, of course, probably thirty times; whenever she was in the den with him, which was a considerable part of the day, she talked to him. Some part of him had to hear her, after all. And it certainly didn't occur to her that if he could hear her- maybe he was choosing not to wake up because he didn't want to be conscious for all the blame she wanted to place on him. 

She walked toward the lake with tired steps- even though she hadn't been getting as much exercise as normal, she felt drained, as though she was trying to use her own energy to wake Screech up. She didn't notice Quixot at first, as she drank, but by the time she did, she was still too zoned out and tired to avoid him. In fact, she felt nothing. No jealousy, no guilt, no feelings she couldn't control. If anything good had come from this entire situation, it was that she no longer had feelings for Quixote. She nodded her head to him, and tiredly lowered her head again to drink a bit more.