Swiftcurrent Creek it's the wrong kind of place to be thinking of you

Falwasi skirted through the casually implanted range of hardwood, moving beneath the unusually tedious sky. She had woken for some strange reason, perhaps by the earth's paradox damned by the shit-load of events currently taking place in the Creek. If Falwasi thought the Creek was dramatic when she first arrived... she was in for a hell of a ride.

She slowed to an upbeat trot as different scents mingled with the air and her very own nose. It was stronger than it had been in a while — as far as she knew, members preferred to linger near the creek's edge, perhaps west of it. But a familiar scent struck out like a daisy during winter. It was Bazi.

Falwasi's nose twitched as she followed the ivory girl's trail, moving at a walk as her limbs carried her forwards. Her body told her to go, but her brain heavily contradicted this action. Maybe the alphess wouldn't be so keen to see the mountain wolf after her contravene (in Falwasi's mind, a mild worry) against Paarthurnax at the pack meeting.

However, it was too late to turn back now. Falwasi was standing at a distance behind Bazi, who seemed much healthier than she had in weeks. Her stomach was rounding, a special thanks to the two continuous weeks of hunting success, and her coat was no longer a pasty yellow, but a glacial white.

The tall wolf gave the small wolfess a gentle chuff, offering no words to accompany it. She wouldn't want to say the wrong thing.