Wapun Meadow this seat's taken

The silver should've realized that toting flora in the prime of pollen season probably wasn't the best idea. Each stride came with a sniffle or sneeze, but she was stubborn as always and determined to return to her thicket with agastache and lavender. Bits of chamomile petered from her lips and onto her ivory hide, making her argent eyes film with warbly tears; yet she persevered, and Aure would be damned if she let allergies hinder this little gift for her bairns.

Each day and moment spent with her children — Verx's children, their children — had her bothered self easing up and letting spring commence its full reign on her person. The tenderness of motherhood and milk was still there  ( and would always be, in one way or another ), but the fur of her womb had begun to re-knit itself, more plush than before; the wiry, untapped strength rolled beneath her too-petite figure once more.

In every sense, she was a she-wolf of the Far North, daughter and the Undimming once-heiress of Rhaesuial. But here, she was the secondry officer of Diaspora, and vulnerable to southern "plagues", as she liked to grouch. This was made evident by another muffled, squeaking sneeze that spewed petals from the voracious boquet she held  ( and cursed thoroughly through); and she stumbled, and tripped, and ended up right on her back ...but perked right back up in the meadow's sea and continued to stagger hurriedly on.