Cricket Creek Bog just stop

she thrashes out in anger in the mud, recovering her paws only after a moment. she steadies herself, not even trying to clean off the mud that is everywhere, making her seem a dirty, vile-smelling lump. not a patch of white exists on her pelt anymore, and only in rare places does the red shine through. her jaw is clenched, shoulders bunched and stance riddled with tension when she hears the noise behind her. 

she twists quickly, albeit hardly agile, in the thick bog, facing the man with a fierce gaze. she watches, waits for him to see something, dares him too so that she can fly at his face and utilise her anger. but he is silent, and after a moment does she offer a huff, in her stubborn pride not wanting to be the first to break the silence.