[m] kings from the underground

Thunder rumbled off in the distance, though the storm that was surely brewing in the distance stayed in the horizon. It'd been raining lightly all morning but Tatum wasn't perturbed by it. The pressing humidity caused her damp agouti earth brown fur to curl at her nape, and the tan fur to curl slightly on her chest and aside from causing slight discomfort where humidity was concerned, it wasn't unbearable. The rain offered a cool relief as it fell from the heavens, soaking through the tendrils of her fur and cooling off her warm skin, eliminating the need to pant out the excess heat. Besides, if she felt too uncomfortable she could just go for a swim — literally. FitzDutiful had taken her by the falls (the name of which she couldn't remember) when he gave her the tour of Silvertip. At least Tatum had remembered it's location, which was currently the important part. It struck her with a bought of nostalgia, despite that it was unfamiliar to her. It reminded her of Foxhound, even if her memories were   (for the most part) not all that pleasant. 

Tatum absently noted the rich abundance of herbs on the way down as she navigated the terrain down to the bottom of the falls where the water fed into a pool that appeared to snake into a river, further down. She had no use for them, though. She wasn't a healer, and had no intentions of being one despite that it was probably useful to have even some basic knowledge; but she didn't have the patience that it required. She was as stubborn as a mule and would allow her wounds to fester before she saw help for them: she had a thing for scars, thought they added sex appeal.

Silver eyes studied the rhythmic and cascading progress of the water as gravity pulled it down, letting the soft noise become something akin to a lullaby as she stretched out on the dirt beneath a tree, shaded from the rain by it.