Otatso Wetlands there's no rest for the weary

He was not unused to travel, for it had made up the majority of his life; indeed, Curran Phase had been on the move since he was only months old. It had all begun with a search for his mother, the desperate need to return the main source of love and nourishment to the den where he and his sister were kept under the protection of a father they barely knew. But those were old wounds, now healed and mere wisps of memory when the agouti male's mind was still developing. No, the wound that had plagued him for nearly three years, the wound that dug deep in his heart and forced him onwards for all this time, was the loss of his sister.

Most others might have given up on Key. And though Curran had spent most of his life on the move, searching for her, desperate to protect her from the world and bring her home, she still represented—to him—the only constant in his life. True, his parents were alive and well, but the bonds forged between the male and his sister in their tumultuous youth were stronger.

He still carried the hopeful optimism of his youth; these years spent searching had not yet made him bitter. In his mind, once he and Key were reunited, they would finally be able to settle somewhere in happiness and live that way forever—find mates, and produce offspring that would grow up together as cousins. And to Curran, that would make his vagabond years worth it.

Curran inhaled, tail wagging at the stench of the wetlands; there was something about such places that he found invigorating. The smell of them was heady with life, though it wasn't particularly pleasant, and despite their treacherous paths and—at times—disgusting appearance, they held their own hidden treasures. For now, however, Curran sought refuge from the midday sun's heat within Otatso's shade and settled on a patch of (relatively) dry, solid ground at the base of a tree.