Kintla Flatlands sunday matinée

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The day was as hot as fucking balls out, and Tatum, though she'd been unsurprisingly lethargic all day, was panting as if she'd ten miles in three hours. It felt like she had, and even though she had been careful to keep herself hydrated her mouth still felt as dry as sandpaper. Her ears slicked back to her skull as she followed after a hare, as to whom she'd given up hunting about half an hour ago, though by now it would have been easy prey would she have been in any sort of mood to kill it. She wasn't. The scraps from carcasses left by other predators — or wolves — was enough to sate her somewhat absent appetite. She ate because she had too but she wasn't overly hungry — no doubt a side effect of the the pressing heat. If there was a way to strip off her summer fur and run around 'naked' (via the human standard) she would have done it in a heart beat. As it was the dark ocher of her fur seemed to siphon the heat from the sun's rays and she was stuck dealing with it, albeit she did not do it with any sort of grace. She cussed, and stormed about, and told the weather, and then the hare, and then the weather again to fuck itself. 

It didn't help that the heat of the night hadn't allowed her to get much of a good night's sleep, either.

Svelte form trudged on, defiant to her last breath (or was it pant?), until she couldn't take it anymore and threw herself in the nearest lake; she'd passed several on the way but hadn't particularly been looking to soak herself. When her head breached the water's surface she let out a relieved gasp as the cool water smoothed over and through her fur. “That's so much fucking better.” She breathed in a hefty sigh of relief, not aware of the other wolf (that she might have very well disturbed).

I hope you don't mind swearing, lol.