Whitebark Stream If you ain't six feet underground, you're living it up on top

nausea had, ultimately, won. she'd quietly vomited up the contents of her stomach (which had been rather lackluster, really) into brittle undergrowth earlier that morning. a brisk walk along the borders had helped to take the edge off, and when later it had faded to a dull and constant rolling of her stomach, the leader had circled inward, back toward the creek.

it is Kora she finds there; a packmate she'd been meaning to talk too. she'd seen her only in passing since her joining, and now that she seemed to be settling in, it seemed a good time to get to know her better. she calls softly as she approaches, steps light and careful as she notes her packmate's focus, not wanting to disrupt what she thinks might be a hunt.