Fishblight Mire trials and tribulations

Some of the water washed away the brown from the Italian's coat, but Menta supposed she had been standing fruitlessly for far too long - mud had dried to bits of her fur and had a strong hold all down her large frame. Menta prided herself on not being a vain wolf - if that was a thing one could be proud of - but still sighed internally at the thought of how much effort she felt she would need to put in to at least look quasi-presentable.

Later. That could all be done later with a stop at some water hole on the way home. At least she was farther away from the stench and with good company. I understand, Menta said in what she hoped was a sympathetic manner, her face turned towards Lagertha with a cracked smile. Sometimes we follow what we don't necessarily agree with. It made perfect sense to her wolf-brain, following a leader was absolute and questions - if they were allowed at all - could come after obeying.