Flycatcher Downs Ring ring, the bartender please?

A flash pain in her foreleg jerked woman a little way out of her devilled slumber and she let a gutteral moan similar to that of a bear as her body was jerked upwards back onto the ridge of his spine. She felt more than just a flabby piece of flesh this time, more like a rag or a deceased corpse than alive.

Nevertheless, with her eyes now blurrilly opened, she was dimly aware of the terrain in front of the two, her moaning now a yearning huff as her instincts began to override her deflated self. She was set down beside the stream in an unceremonious way, grunting as her rump made contact with muddied ground. "Cotillita," she repeated dumbly, the rest of his words blissfully sliding over her receptors as her thirst for water drove her legs into a violent churning until her muzzle was fully planted in the shallow currents. 

"Food. Food." It was a word that sent shivers of urgency through her beaten form and, after she had messily downed her fill in liquid, she hauled herself into a sphynx-like posture as she watched his striped rear disappear into the wilderness. She'd sit here until he returned. Watching, waiting, for him to return with his promised necessity.