Wapun Meadow ❝a kiss cannot reach her through the incrusting ivory.

@Vercingetorix! 4/14.

Ever since her skirmish with the fiend from the Lair, Aurëwen had been brimming with vitality. In that time, her children had opened their eyes, took their first steps, and were coaxing their whimpers into howls — and it all augmented her fervor. These happenings made her frolicsome, so she left the children in Vonnaruil’s cheerful care, and went to exhaust herself in the meadow not too far from the claim.

The silver found said meadow, peaceable and comely; not quite bursting yet, but moreso budding with hesitant color, as if wary that winter hadn’t truly assuaged its clutches yet. Well, Wapun would see no such tentative mercy from her. Just as frenzied as she’d been at the Lair  ( and, possibly, the trait-sake for Isilmë’s troublesome nature ), Aurëwen threw herself into the glade with singular intent: exhaust herself in some way, or subject Diaspora to this overabundance of childish vigor.

For a while, she leapt and bounded after both hare and fox alike, snapping after white-tipped tails of either; and always reared short of a copse of aspens, grumbling after the scarlet-furred and the fleet-footed. She retreated from invading burrows with her scarred, now-muddied muzzle. And when she’d properly scared those creatures off, Aure set about giving the birds something to reckon with.

It was in this manner how her late afternoon melded into an early evening. But when even the finches and sparrows and whatever sort alike kept to their roosts, when Aurëwen had bedded down amongst wildflowers, she was thoroughly fatigued... but at the same time, not quite. The silver wanted a brawl, a something to tire her in the way chasing quarry couldn’t.

Until someone found her, Aure delegated that the flowers about her were suitable enough to occupy her endless energy, for now. Whoever had the fortune(?) of finding the pale female would hear her first: hear the little, chirruping growls and polleny-impatient sneezes. They’d see her tail feather, her long legs darting from the long, flowery grasses.

A wild and fey smile on her scarred face, Aure purred and keened and wriggled her wont, on her back, within the spring sea of the meadow. Truly happy, it seems, as evident by the airy, indulgent giggles that took flight from her ivory breast.