Emberwood he hides behind his cigarette, lets the smoke linger by his lips

@Kavik <3

One might never have known the Irathi's claim. 

Twas not a boisterous, prideful thing with scent screaming of her dominion over the land, harolding it as her sovereignty from its threshold of evergreen watchmen. Her ties to the peaceful glen were subtly placed, delicate roots curling into spring-softened loam to take hold in the very energy of the trees.

It had become her own gradually, slowly - as all the best things in life grew to be.

It started by piling leaves and needles of the season's shedding foliage in a heap, dragging them in to the small cavern the Hagisi had chosen for temporary shelter. Originally, Iär'e had intended to stay only long enough to heal and replenish - plans that had changed as destruction erupted over the Wilds and tragedy befell an onslaught of disaster. 

Change was inevitable. The Tipani could feel it, even now, in her bones; an imperceptible shift, an unseen tide of unraveling fates as packs fell and rose, herds migrated, and families fell apart. 

But, then, that was the way of nature. Even her own beloved homeland had been frought with strife, causing the warrioress to flee to this wilderness - a refugee amongst the suffering. 

The signs were there, if one took care to look closely: the odd bone or scrap littering the forest floor - the careful burial they'd undergone worn away by elements and scavengers alike. Tufts of calico agouti caught on the odd shrub, a frozen pawprint along the banks of the southbound stream. 

The most obvious though, was the cutwife's dwelling. 

Even from outside the tiny cave, the area had taken on the look of a spartan camp. The tattered grey pelt of a mule deer lay stretched on the sheetrock beyond her threshold, underside up as it dried in the sun - a lucky snag from a carcass that would keep her warm in the coming months. 

A few small, hard apples kept the tanning hide company, as well as a few other bits of plants - drying herbs. Fish bones, still arranged in esoteric positions from scrying, lay in the dirt, almost tucked from sight beneath an evergreen bramble - a deer tendon strung with vertebrae clacking as it danced in the wind, hung from the thorny branches of the shrubbery. 

In the midst of this otherworldly and somewhat occult display, Iär'e sat - working over her kill tactfully.

A variety of snake, the exact breed she was uncertain of, that had been disturbed from its hibernation as the shaman stepped on its nest. The shock and pain had made it sluggish as it attempted to slither away, not to mention that it had been sleeping for winter before she'd startled it, making for an easy kill. 

Tishinka could not skin it, its thin scales shredding far too easily, nor would she have cared to. Snake skin would not warm her den and there wasn't enough of it to do anything worthwhile with the material. Instead, the witchling tore at it - ripping the meat from the reptile's spine in neat chunks, piling them at her paws to break her fast.