rook to... where? [c]

Humidity had been a significant adjustment. It was an exercise for one's mind to understand a sliver of the world they lived in, only to enter in one which was entirely different. The forest certainly withheld patches of waters and streams that added a dampness to the air, but within Riverclan's borders it was a different situation. Reminders of their life-giver and savoir never seemed to leave, be it the way it clung to the air, or perpetually sang its sweet lullabies of trickling currents for all to hear. Easily, she had grown to prefer it over the buzzing and shrieking of cicada song, though she still heard a lone cretin buzzing loudly during her sleepless nights. As much as she had command over her mental domain, the attunement she had towards the land she had abandoned was hard to truly sever. Nurture's claws had embedded themselves deep, and even as she pried them away one-by-one, each put up a fight. Such was the case when it came to shifting to being awake during the daylight hours, embracing the sun's rays as a symbol of alertness rather than a warming calm to send her to rest. It was in the cool that she felt most alert, in the shadows of the night where she had best trained.

It was simply another challenge. But as much as she wished to push herself, rest would always be ultimately necessary. That very fact was what kept her in camp. Even as the sun kept itself strong, its rays heating up the territory to an almost uncomfortable amount, a breeze accompanied it. One that caused her chest to tighten quite considerably. Understandably, it was impossible not to associate the wind with the clan who had taken it up as a mantle for its name. In that connection came a tether, a tether to the deepest part of her psyche. Now that was a foe that she had gnawed on incessantly for the last moon. Fought to lock away, to hide from the cruel world lest it destroy the last blooming petals it had left in its wake. But instead, it struck back like an adder. A vicious beast that refused to let her forget, let alone keep it at bay for even a single sunset.

So she found herself at the base of one of the sweeping willow trees of camp. They had quickly earned her fascination, the long, sweeping limbs of soft leaves earning her affinity. If there had to ever be a tree that she could liken to the gentleness of a flower... this would be it. Instead of violent hues of lavender, it carried soft green of its leaves, branches that flowed with the grace of the river they enjoyed. Even as she rested, though, that did not mean her paws were idle. Before her was a pile of reeds, thick strands she was working to weave together to then be able to fit into the walls of one of the dens of camp. It was easier for her to create the patch away from where it would be fitted, to best see how they locked together and comprehend the complex patterns they were woven into. At a fault, though, she had allowed her focus to entirely be enraptured by the way her mind worked at weaving the reeds, pushing herself to find more efficient methods without ever once compromising quality. It had meant that whoever wished her company would have a rather easy time sneaking up on her, startling her. That realization eventually weaseled its way into her mind, and with a snap of her head that may have indicated shock, the disciplined molly glanced around to see if there had been any cats who attempted to prompt her with questions. After all, she saw no other reason why they may seek her company.