The new tent was already littered with her fur but it was simply how it was with her new coat in.  Hiding in it once it was set up however she would quickly curl to the center of it and not give Cyrus much choice other then to be by her side as it were.  Watching him she could tell his skin was cold and as he laid to rest she could hear her name.  Her name caused her ears to perk, the words after escaping her as she uncurled and moved near to him, seeing him falling to his sleep.  Crawling under his blanket she would press her forehead to his with a subtle purr before falling to rest as well, indeed sharing what warmth she had to give.<br/><br/>Morning was something Wiflor took to almost immediately.  She would rush from the tent almost as soon as the sun broke it's way into the sky, finding herself the highest point she could to lounge on to allow the sun to bake her fur.  Every light to warm her belly, every ray to hold warm to her face.  The sun was a friend to Wiflor and always had been in her mind.  It was difficult to look at the friend it was true, but the sun was always just so kind...<br/><br/>Her attention was lost until the scent came to her.  The scent of meat as it was torn through with the blade.  Ham.  With a flick of her eyes she would note Cyrus and Atticus, thinking them preparing their ritual breakfast that they seemed so interested in having at the specific times.  But she had no complaint of it, and more so as the slices of ham found their way up on her little perch.  Seasoned meats were hard on Wiflor's stomach.  Cooked meats didn't hold as much allure as raw meats to her.  And after having eaten the arm of a werewolf it showed that not many foreign meats could affect her when ingested.<br/><br/>However vegetation caused her to jump when given to her.  Fruit she refused to eat but would continually sniff at with joy for the sweet allure that tantalized her nostrils with the fragrance that was to come from the existence of fruit always rang a bell with her.  Yet not nearly as much as butterflies.  Wiflor would not eat cricket nor fly, not moth nor caterpillar.  However she always made attempts with butterflies despite her lacking ability to catch them.<br/><br/>When her ham was finished she would silently creep from her perch to approach Atticus and Cyrus as they ate, watching as Atticus sipped his colored water as was his ritual.  Curious she would wait, watching until he sat it down by his side before crouching low and stalking near to sniff at the cup.  It smelled off, but such would be obvious as it looked off as well in her eyes.  Slowly however she would try, gently dabbing her tongue just to the surface of the tea with Atticus' attention wherever else it may be.  Tasting the tea she learned something that before she deemed obvious until now it became proven.<br/><br/>A lot of food people ate and drank tasted like shit...<br/><br/>Her fur would stand on end as she darted away, her hairs flinging off from the coat here and there as several shed furs came to float on the tea cup's contents.  Wiflor would already be darting straight up her perch and far from the nasty garbage until they were good and ready to leave, as was yet another of their customs soon after their morning rituals.