Cricket Creek Bog just stop

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Grievous was not a wolf who often fell prey to uncertainty; but looking at the mud-creature before him had the seasoned migrant at a sudden and distinct loss of articulation. He could only look at her for a long moment, his senses confounded by the sheer heft of the muck that had consumed her. She had no figure, no scent, no gender... and the wolf canted his head slightly as she made a small, indignant noise that captured his attention like a dogwhistle.

He huffed too, after a moment, unable to find within himself a fitting taunt, so he elected to assist instead. Not unlike a stag, he bounded over the log in a single flounce, and then loomed beside the muddied canid on his stilts, peering down at her with a burgeoning mask of indifference. He motioned to her stiffly, and then began to slosh his way through the swamp into a direction that he seemed certain of— intending to lead her from the bog with the slim hope that she might express her gratitude later.

But after only a few steps, he turned to look over his shoulder, watching to see if she would even follow at all. And when she didn't, he continued on without her...

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