Tuktu Weir june bug, the weather breaks

There was nothing in this space for miles that served to interest the ink stain as she cavorted about. Nothing save for the softly falling snow beneath which she paraded, snapping her gator-teeth at flakes as they drifted. Her steps were fluid despite the erratic course. Her head was canted back as if in supplication to the clouds, but her eyes remained wide open and wild. A snap here, a snap there, and in between some scattered steps.

She had no reason to look upon her surroundings but the sound of water bubbling about, coursing its way, made her nose dip and her big, bright eyes to stare with crow-like fixation. In the distance she could spy some piled sticks but did not think they were that interesting. What was interesting came later - as she perused the waterway's edge - and her snout was blasted by the sour odour of urine.

The ink stain snorted and shook her angular face, as if that would help matters.