Resting in the cart she would would not do much.  That night she was driven wild with the sensation of the land about her but that day when they left such a place she returned to normal without any sign of concern.  Indeed as she rested it could be noted as she moved time and time again to position herself just right for the rays of the sun to bake across her fur.  She didn't understand why Cyrus kept such an eye on her but she figured that perhaps he was just trying to make sure she was safe during her watch of the night.  She also realized it wasn't the only time he had done so since the time at the labyrinth for surely he had saved her of the trap filled place after her failure.<br/><br/>After a handful of hours she would wake from the wagon and lounge over a series of barrels to watch Cyrus with a wave of her tail.  What reason was it he watched her that night she couldn't know for certain.  But perhaps she was suppose to watch him for the day in return, her vibrant eyes at a constant all but glowing as the sunlight caused the Tapetum lucidum of her eyes to glow their cyan clarity true as can be..  In the cities she watched his every step, showing no interest in the surroundings as she had done before.  Along the paths she would stare at every large stone to be passed by him, every fallen log to be stepped over or around by his approach to the goal, and every creature to be within so much as a few feet in his reach no matter how small.<br/><br/>That was to say until a butterfly came into view.  With a wide grin her gaze on Cyrus would break, her body fumbling over and off the wagon as she bumped Atticus with her right shoulders in her movement.  Not even paying it mind she was in too much a hurry to chase the butterfly, jumping and flailing her arms and gnashing her teeth in every attempt to get it be it dead or alive.  Some might question why she had such a fascination with butterflies and the answer was actually relatively simple.  The answer was what she thought, not that many would know what went on in her mind.  But a light laugh and strong purr even after her failure to capture the creature held, watching as it flew out of view.<br/><br/>For the most part her mannerism remained much the same as their travels.  As they sought lodging she would prefer to take to the floor.  When they passed food stalls she'd always look at the seasoned meats with disgust, the seasonings always reacting poorly to her system.  On few occasions Wiflor could be found up in the wagon shattering random bones to eat, the bones seeming to be things she simply found to snack on.  Bone, meat, flesh, skin, fur.  It showed her species did not waste in their hunts yet no matter what came to happen Wiflor would never show signs of being willing to hunt alone.  Rabbits could pass by her without her snapping at them.  Foxes could wave luxurious tails as though to tempt fate itself but hers would simply wave back as she watched them.<br/><br/>But when provided with something already dead?  When given something that was killed by another?  She would tear into it at times savagely and not waste so much as a broken off tooth of the creature or misplaced claw to have fallen off whilst being devoured.  No matter how many days passed she showed no signs of aggression or madness from her meal.  She showed no anger or wrath like the moment the were wolves attacked.  The only thing she'd snap her teeth at were simply the passing butterflies.<br/><br/>________________________________________<br/><br/>On what came to near the final days of their travels she became slower and slower.  As the air nipped with it's frigid fang Wi'flor would curl upon the wagon to hide from it.  With the last town passed she would not even rise to look at the village nor Cyrus or even Atticus no matter what words were given.  In a way one could think of her as becoming lethargic in the cold climate.  In the snowy climate.  There was another issue as well.  She was not accustomed to being in the colder environments naturally.<br/><br/>What would of been her winter coat would come in with hastes.  Silky but thick the white fur of her body would bunch up and the orange and black furs became somewhat course with undercoats developing.  To Atticus and Cyrus' misfortunes this meant another problem.  As she would often hide in the wagon with this coat of fur she would shed almost wildly and constantly.  By the time they were ready to make camp most products of the wagon would be littered with the old coat of her fur, each hair of the tiger sticking to food containers, tent, weapons.  Everything.<br/><br/>Not that she meant harm in the situation.  Watching from afar with them preparing their tent (Or tents if the one shredded by the werewolf was replaced).  If Cyrus and Atticus had separate tents she would sniff each before going to hide in Cyrus' tent for the night.  However if the tent was shared between the two she would become the third and hide in it with them.  Her body warm almost like a furnace with the winter coat coming in with her body tricked into growing it out with the change of temperature.<br/><br/>The cold was no friend of hers.