The Floodlands safe behind your veneer

@Minori (@Takara @Higoro @Issun y'all are welcome too or if you wanna wait til she's officially pledged that's cool too) :)

What'd once been bayous of prarieland, drowned by rainfall and kingdom to dragonflies, were now marshlands of bog moss and ankle-high waters. The dragons were less prevalent with the imminent arrival of autumn; already leaves were merging to their vivid hues (as if burning from the inside out with the small death of the shifting seasons), herds changing routine as they prepared to migrate, rodents stocking for the coming cold. 

Had the warrioress been home, she'd have been aiding her Zyanes in such rituals: the Clan would have wintered together in the caverns of Iio which meant washing the bed pelts and tanning replacements, stocking the wares, minding the little ones as their mothers went about their own wifely duties. 

But she was not home. 

The approach of fall's juncture meant nothing, save that a more urgent desire to settle plagued her restless thoughts. Though the terrain was milder than the lands of Tifǝigyǝnts they were still foreign - the climate of its winters, the availability of resources were unknown. 

Another need complemented this one, perhaps not as necessary but a need all the same: social interaction. The Tipani were a closely-knit tribe; Iär'e had been surrounded by an energetic, familial community since her adoption. To have been cut off from such contact so abruptly left an aching absence in her life. 

And whose fault would that be? 

The thought made her jaws scrape against each other, a needling that had pricked her since departing from her Blood. 

You didn't feel safe, the kinder side of her argued. 

You weren't strong enough to fight, the harsher, truer aspect whispered. 

Cerulean winked from existence as the witchling stopped, eyes shutting as her head hung for a moment - allowing herself but a second's reprieve to wallow in her own shame, her own weaknesses, before forcing them to open. 

As if emboldened by some invisible spirit of courage, the echoes of torment sank beneath the smooth planes of a calm mask and the Irathi's spine straigthened like warped steel beaten into strength. 

Shouldering her own baggage, the calico continued north.