Some more artsies. c:

The doe was sore. So very, very sore. This pedestal wasn't helping, either. The loose bits of rock, and the jagged edges of those still piecing together the square structure dug into every inch of her that pressed against it. Vaguely, Nadezdha was aware of coming here after a brief play and snooze with Soul, and even more vague was her memory of Rhoda perched beside her. But now she was alone, as she normally was when she woke up. Dreary, unwilling eyes opened slowly, the red orbs gazing out at the isle of broken stone pillars before her. As always, her gaze was void. No expression tainting the dainty elegance of the planes of her face. But that soon vanished, and the placidity gave way to worry and unease.

Her son was still nowhere to be found. He would not answer calls, and his scent was stale in all the places she'd taught him to hide. She knew he wasn't dead; there was no death-stench or signs of his blood anywhere.

So, heavily, she raised herself and descended from the rocky cube she often nested on. After a regretful stretch, the midnight pelted doe glanced around, ears pressed attentively forth on her head, and eyes alert. Nothing? All seemed to be graciously calm.

With a sore limp from protesting hind legs angry at her choice bed, Nadezdha began her morning patrol; walking the paths taught to her by Asfaloth, and keeping her senses as alert as possible for any signs of danger or peril. As lithely as she could, she hoped up a rock, and stood atop the hard surface, glassing the small clearing that surrounded it for anything that would be stalking her.

The morning sun; already hot in its pursuit to brighten the day; made her dark furs warm almost uncomfortably. The wounds on her sides that she'd sustained from Kaars were no help. She hoped that fawn she'd tried shielding was alright. Fawn... Hm.

The Blackbird looked up at the unforgiving rays of sun beating down on her, tears welling up in her red eyes as the rays of light stung the deep pools of bright red. She drew her face in a rather angry looking scowl and snorted at the sun; at whatever entity was hiding her son from her. She may not have been his birth mother... But she did not care. Not one bit. He was still her fawn. Her precious thing to take care of.

The scowl turned into an expression of worry once more, and she turned her head up a bit more, basking in the heat of the morning rays.