Home. Abaven's home was a mess, a wreck. The rapids had drained our a little bit, but debris was wedged in every nook and cranny. "We're home... but it just doesn't seem like the same home we left." She didn't know how to describe it. It was just a strange feeling to witness. Maybe later she could talk to Bass about her lack of confidence. Since the storm hitting Abaven, her nature had dove for the timid little girl she once was. Abaven didn't deserve that. With the seasons changing, the rain finally was beginning to recede. Her limbs were sore from ages spent locked away amongst giant groups of fur in cavernous crypts. It was a wonder everyone made it without injury or getting sick; and Bass and Motif both showed their colors in leadership. If only she could be a good leader like them.
