Witch's Marsh hit 'em with the bomb diggy bomb diggy

No problem, especially because I made you wait longer... :) Back from vacation now, so I should be speedier going forward!

Sopping wet was the last thing the yearling wanted to be, especially with day-to-day temperatures dropping so rapidly. Worse, still, was that this wasn't merely lake or river water— it was the stinking wet that belonged solely to the rot of wetlands. She scanned futilely for a sheltered territory that she could escape to while her fur dried, out of the blustering winds, but she was trapped between wetland and claimed land.

Before she could escape south, a male approached. Thankfully, it was a question that he presented her, rather than teeth. Tail turned her head demurely to the side— a gesture of submission, for she was already sitting. "I'm trying to get to the mountains," she explained, with a gentle nod of confirmation. "It seems I chose a poor route. I apologize if I drew too close for comfort." Tail risked a glance, though her head did not move.

He smelled heady; of other wolves, of puppies. There was no mistaking that he was of the pack she had nearly stumbled into, and though she had no way of knowing unless she were told, Tail suspected he was an important member. It was enough to spook her for the time being, and after a courteous farewell, the yearling scampered off through the wetlands. It would be unpleasant, of course, but at least she would still have her life.