Swiftcurrent Creek One night, a few moons ago

Morwenna knelt among the wild underbrush, her dark fur blending seamlessly with the dappled shadows of the forest. She’d been meaning to want to thank @Akavir for his hospitality and kindness, but she knew the toilsome ways of leadership and how busy it could be. She didn’t want to bother him.

The soft rustle of leaves whispered around her as she gathered herbs, each delicate leaf a reminder of the life she had once nurtured in her pack. With nimble paws, she sorted through the greenery, collecting sprigs of thyme and sprouted wild garlic.

As she worked, a soft melody slipped past her lips, a haunting tune in High Valyrian that spoke of love and loss, of a time when the world felt whole. The song flowed through her, bittersweet, weaving memories of her children into the very fabric of the notes. Each hum carried a piece of her heart, echoing the grief that had long settled within her.

Her focus sharpened as she spotted a cluster of vibrant herbs nestled against a rock. She reached out, her claws deftly pinching the stems, but the weight of her sorrow lingered like a shadow. Even in this moment of solace, surrounded by the earthy scent of life, the absence of her children gnawed at her. Yet, the act of gathering, of creating something new, stirred a flicker of hope within her—a promise that perhaps, one day, she could heal.