Felltree Marsh vvitch

Bracing her shoulders for the strength required to allow him freedom from the marsh’s hungry gullet, Jaguara was otherwise silent and without complaint. He was not overly big as some male’s boasted within their genes, but she herself was slight and her weakness lay mostly in the physicality of her slender curvature which was only marginally sewn with muscle. It was enough to see him through, and with an afterthought tenderness she gingerly pulled the stick she’d struck him with away from his jaws once his grip had loosened. Dropping it down beside her, it was quickly consumed by the burble of mud that only hinted it’d been discarded at all.

She then peered at him, watching the fatigue (or was it shock? Both?) trembling in his limbs from the short-lived ordeal. It was difficult to make out most of his features through the filth that now covered him, nonetheless she committed as much as she could to memory. Studying him carefully, the she-wolf noted how he did not at first acknowledge her, leaving her to ponder his current state in the aftermath. “Hello” Was her simple dry response. Apparently she’d hadn’t smacked him completely out of his mind, not that it mattered much to her either way. But her inquisitiveness could often be mistaken for concern and she continued, “You don’t seem to be in your element. Are you injured?”