Wapun Meadow when i was a younger man, looking for a pot of gold

Her son’s affinity for gnawing at dirt hadn’t gone unnoticed by the ivory mother; it was his wont, and whenever he meant to digest it, she enacted sentinel to make sure there would be no painful yarping. Because she watched  ( often returning with more half-eaten meat to regurgitate and supply for milk )  she didn’t feel she was to blame. Not anymore, at least, when Mahler had affirmed an unending of the soil-snacking, and given her proceedures to ensure Drago's safety.

For now, she waded through her river of depression by seeing the children sat — nearly a month old, it shouldn’t be a problem — and hastening towards Wapun. Loathe as Aure was to return to this specific place, the silver was low on meat, and the game flourished here. With a resolute shove to mute the nagging criticisms of her mind, she set about at once to single out a rabbit for herself; the chase was fleeting, and she caught a lame-footed hare, anyways.

It wasn’t until her sides were heaving from the minute hunt that she noticed— a vaguely-familiar she-wolf? Aurëwen gazed, half-wonder and half-curiosity, but— she should eat, first. Eyes left the acquaintance for a while, curving into herself with wariness, before she began to tuck into lunch. Should she be pursued, she could easily make a dash for the Lake once more.