Otatso Wetlands let me dangle at a cruel angle

Bhreac continued to pick her way through the wetlands, enjoying the simple but somewhat challenging task of making her way through it at a clip. Her tail wagged behind her as she hopped nimbly over a series of tree roots, and then slunk low to the ground to swiftly crawl beneath a half-fallen tree trunk. Her belly brushed low to the muddy ground, and she could feel the dirt gathering in her coat, but she didn't mind. One thing that Bhreac had certainly never grown out of was a childish delight in finding herself a bit dirty; it was usually an indicator of a good time.

After a few more moments, though, she heard footfalls that weren't hers — the ground was saturated with water, thick squelchy mud nestled between the curling tree roots and flora, and she was so attuned to her own movements that she knew which sounds belonged to her. She'd found most wolves to be fairly friendly in this area, if not downright baffling in their pleasantness, but whoever it was wasn't intent on making themselves known. She didn't stop moving, but the thought made her uneasy; she quickly decided, though, that it could've been a fox, or a bird, or a squirrel, or any other manner of creature, and so she carried on.