[lady ichimonji kaede knows it will take time to adjust to the jungle. without the briny breeze offered by a nearer ocean, her fur often feels sticky. clammy. kaede speaks nothing of this. she does what tasks are asked of her and does not look directly into any faces save those of her children. it feels good to have layre close, but she is alone when she sets off. or at least, it feels she is alone. the lady does not go far. she carries a single rolled leaf and sets it beside the edge of running water, stepping at once into welcome coolness which at once soaks down to the roots of each hair. her paws trace the slipperiness of ancient moss. she leans back into a curved tangle of wood smoothed by eternal current. kaede bathes, indulging herself with thorough combing of claw and tooth. she is loathe to leave the stream; she sits beside it, shivering a little in the night air. but it is warmer here than the rest. her bundle contains dried wisteria petals, the last carried from the rise, and these she sets to breastbone and brow and back, soaking them against her fur until the oils open and clutch at her pelt, and as the floral fragrance rises around her nostrils, kaede smiles once to herself, a wistful, pained look.]

lady ichimonji kaede knows it will take time to adjust to the jungle. without the briny breeze offered by a nearer ocean, her fur often feels sticky. clammy.

kaede speaks nothing of this. she does what tasks are asked of her and does not look directly into any faces save those of her children.

it feels good to have layre close, but she is alone when she sets off. or at least, it feels she is alone.

the lady does not go far. she carries a single rolled leaf and sets it beside the edge of running water, stepping at once into welcome coolness which at once soaks down to the roots of each hair.

her paws trace the slipperiness of ancient moss. she leans back into a curved tangle of wood smoothed by eternal current.

kaede bathes, indulging herself with thorough combing of claw and tooth. she is loathe to leave the stream; she sits beside it, shivering a little in the night air. but it is warmer here than the rest.

her bundle contains dried wisteria petals, the last carried from the rise, and these she sets to breastbone and brow and back, soaking them against her fur until the oils open and clutch at her pelt, and as the floral fragrance rises around her nostrils, kaede smiles once to herself, a wistful, pained look.