Dragoncrest Cliffs can't you just let them grow?

As the dawn gave way to morning, what started as a few trilling whistles of birdsong was slowly gathering into a chorus of voices all rising to greet the pale light of day. Somewhere in her subconscious, still tangled in the fading sensations of her dreamstate, Tirgatao cupped her ears to the intrusive sonjour and it was mirrored, albeit languidly, in her physical frame. But the darkness receeded and she stirred beneath the small hollow she called her home. Copper eyes, framed by a soft pale face, fluttered open and focused on the slivers of sky visible between the redwoods for a few thoughtful minutes. Suddenly, she inhaled loudly, propelled herself to her feet and worked to stretch her stiff limbs with a strained grunt.

Tirgatao clambered out from her hovel, braced, and shook free the detrius clinging to her pale coat. Her ears twisted as they chased the sound of the forest; a bird winging above, a rabbit foraging in the undergrowth, and the soft whisper of the wind through the trees. She furrowed her brows and lifted her muzzle, nostrils flared, to scent the air. But where she habitually drew comfort from the collection of scents that composed their pack, now it only brought an indistinct unrest. 

It was only when she strode to the nearest fern to squat and relieve her bladder that she knew: her heat. But this late in the season? Tirgatao splayed her ears. Every year was the same, but this was undoubtedly the worst timing yet. Not only was her cycle likely induced by Heda's own, but she lacked a suitable mate. Furthermore, logic would not permit her to even entertain the idea of requesting such a blessing. 

An agitated huff shot through her nose. She tucked her tail flush against her rear and made her way through the territory in search of a morsel to satiate at least one of her needs.