While her daughter may have loved the cherry blossom trees that were reminiscent of fluffy pink clouds on their best days, Septariadragon preferred the waters of the river — at times fast and fierce, at others calm and cool, the shift in mood and being not unlike herself. As it was, she lay near the rippling sounds of the river, head on her paws and eyes closed, comforted in being able to take a day to hear something other than Sakurapaw’s endless chatter, Zengarden’s fruitless attempts to fulfill her wanderlust with mere stories of the happenings in the territory, and the moaning of the queens with who she shared a den now that she was expecting. The black she-cat rolled onto her side with a huff, belly now distended by the growth within her enough to make near any position uncomfortable.