Fishblight Mire Turning away from the Abyss

This place is vile.

Qamar had sped away from the mountains for a little change of scenery, traveling south and east, in a direction she had not gone before. She thought perhaps she could find some prey in the valley, but to no avail--better to stick to fish, she supposed. She ran and ran until she found herself in this dreadful swamp, smelling of fetid and sickly things. Qamar had her muscles bunched to race back to the Sunspire when she saw a thin black form collapsed beside one of the pools.

Both intrigued and concerned, the silver female padded lightly towards the. . .body, thing, whatever it was. . .gritting her teeth in distaste as her paws sank into the dirty mud. As she got closer, she realized it was another wolf, and quickened her pace, her instincts telling her to check if it was in distress. It was a thin, dark-furred male, his bony side heaving with weariness and with exhaustion. He had fallen asleep--just how deep that sleep was, Qamar was about to find out.

"Hey," she said insistently, prodding her muzzle into the wolf's side. She was not about to watch this loner die, not on her watch. The least she could do was lead him to some place less disgusting, and good for prey--ha! she laughed internally, as if there's such a place during this famine. "Hey, you, are you all right?" Qamar knew she was probably coming off annoying right now, but she cared little about that.