The warmth of afternoon sunlight brewed and boiled the swamplands. Hazy horizon lines were obscured by the mirage of heat, speckled by flies winging lazily on the updraft, feasting on something dead and foul-smelling. An unappealing place, but a safe one, thought the red wolf. And when she saw a heron wing away with a sizeable fish in its grasp, she concluded too that the spoil was worth the smell.
With the same careful stalk the long-legged bird had used, she stepped hesitantly through the marsh. Her furry paws and legs made loud sucking noises as she took each step through the murk, but she was a patient creature and slowed her progress so she might disturb the local fauna less. Another heron landed nearby; she sized it up, and frowned. It was more suited to this kind of hunt than she- but she'd be damned if she didn't come up with a fish first.
Paisley's focus on the hunt would soon be broken by the squealing of a second wolf just around the bend. A shrill shriek made the very same heron start and then wing away, leaving only imprints in the mud where its long legs had been. Fish scattered in the murky water. Soon the only creature making a peep in the swamp was the culprit.
Alyx, you see, had stepped in the wrong place. She'd been careful to place her paws just so before, picking her way precariously through the mud with no shortage of grumbles about the state of her fur and how she'd ended up here in the first place, but then she misjudged a patch of what she thought was solid ground. Sinking chest deep in the foulest smelling mud she'd ever encountered proved too much for the prissiest Redhawk, who began to screech in a blood-curdling fashion that did not suit the situation in the slightest.
In the process, she ensured that every prey animal within several miles of the vile swamp was on high alert, something she might care more about if she knew someone was trying to hunt nearby and if only she wasn't so self-absorbed.
The piercing cry that starrtled the great heron into flight and caused the fish to churn the the water also made the red wolf flinch and stumble sideways. Wet, sticky noises blended with the splashing of murky water as she tried to keep herself upright, scanning the area with an accusatory leer.
She plucked her way through the swampy area until she saw the culprit, who looked a bit muddy but not obviously gored or injured. While she should have been relieved, her heightened heartrate lended itself all too well to a small spike of anger.
"Bloody christ on a cracker- girl-! Would you quit your shreiking?!" She snapped. "I thought you'd stepped in a snapjaw or something!"
Alyx floundered in the mud. By the time she managed to hook her paws on solid ground and haul herself free, she wanted to sit down and cry from the mess she’d made of herself. Mud rode all the way up her back and shoulders, caking nearly every inch of her. Flecks painted her muzzle and cheeks. The only part left untouched were her dark ears.
Which snatched back against her head when a voice began to admonish her. Rightly so, but she experienced a strong surge of indignation first. Forgelight lit her eyes when they first found Paisley, along with the pricking of her hackles, though that was not visible under all the mud.
Then she realized that Paisley was a lot older than her and probably just concerned, and she managed to smooth down her temper before she said something stupid and unnecessarily spiteful, like what the hell is a cracker? No,
she sullenly admitted, throwing her hindquarters down to the ground in a sulky sit. No ... snapjaws, whatever that means. Just the worst day ever. Sorry I guess.