Moult

There it is. She’s moulted.

After months in the folds, the creature has settled into her new burrow.
More hirsute, more reactive: what she hears makes her vibrate. Her 1,700 hairs bristle at the slightest sound, her spores drift in rhythm, and her ember eye broods over you.
At night, she hazes. By day, she basks in the sun.

We’ve been observing her since 2013, but we’d never seen her quite like this.

Since the moult, she’s been showing an unusual appetite for contact.
She ruffles at your approach. You can switch her from day to night.
If you address her, she may respond — in her own way, when she feels like it.
It’s a relationship, not a button.

She’s also rebuilt her burrow: new galleries, new passages, new hideaways. Everything has shifted a little, grown a little.
The whole thing is warmer, rawer, a little more her.

As for the stream, nothing changes: she still broadcasts 24/7, still as unruly as ever. She simply has the burrow to match now.

Come closer.
She doesn’t bite.
She smells you first.