Otatso Wetlands in the end the waves will discolor me.

I pray that I never will again.

Thuringwethil sighs and drops her gaze to the ground. The devastation left behind is apparently and she can see the feast the locusts have taken to their home. Their prey will disappear, the herds will follow along to other places, and the wolves left behind will be forced to make a decision. Pick up and leave and stay and wait it out. Thuringwethil would have to decide what is best for her own wolves, uncertain whether or not the land will be able to sustain them, even with the rival pack out of the picture.

The buzzing, at long exposure, feels deafening. She doesn’t know what it’s like anymore to have a quiet thought as the locusts take over the world. For how long, Thuringwethil isn’t sure, but the damage is long from over. It would take time for the world to grow back and even then, the herds wouldn’t return in full force. They wouldn’t walk into a place full of hungry, frenzied wolves when the earth had little to show for their danger.

“What will you do?” she decides to ask, curious. She knows little about the woman in front of her, has never seen her before, and doesn’t recognize her scent among the packs within her normal proximity. A lone wolf would be foolish to shack up with a pack already facing a famine and their luck would be beneficial to find the nearest green pasture for their best chance of survival.