Thalassa
Paws pad against the dry earth, leaves crunching and twigs snapping softly despite the stealth with which she moves. It makes hunting hard in this weather, especially when prey picks to hide from her as much as the heat. She doesn't mind it, her molten fur still beating the temperature of the sky as it drips along the forest floor. Sticking to the damp areas, it doesn't pose too much of a fire risk - a large-scale forest fire wouldn't make her hunting any easier - except that much of the Greatwood has become dry no matter how close it resides to the rivers.
When her eyes come to rest on the massive tree of the Mathair, Thal pauses, sitting back on her haunches to inspect the towering branches with a quiet flick of her ears. She breathes in the clear air, chest expanding with the scent of leaves, mulch, moss, and - smoke?
Her blue eyes pop back open, blinking as she looks behind her, where she wonders if her precautions haven't been enough to keep the dry foliage from catching fire. The flame is greedy, catching the tinder easily as it begins to catch the breeze, her fangs bearing in a grimace to realize the mess that might be her fault.
When her eyes come to rest on the massive tree of the Mathair, Thal pauses, sitting back on her haunches to inspect the towering branches with a quiet flick of her ears. She breathes in the clear air, chest expanding with the scent of leaves, mulch, moss, and - smoke?
Her blue eyes pop back open, blinking as she looks behind her, where she wonders if her precautions haven't been enough to keep the dry foliage from catching fire. The flame is greedy, catching the tinder easily as it begins to catch the breeze, her fangs bearing in a grimace to realize the mess that might be her fault.
Bite my tongue, bide my time
Wearing a warning sign
Wearing a warning sign
