Bramblepoint jar of flies

The brambles were not necessarily Indie’s favorite place — in fact, her opinion of the place had severely depreciated since a very similar terrain had harmed her toe in unspeakable ways — but here she was, facing another large thorny patch. Indie huffed in frustration.  

It had been an unhappy accident. Indie had never said she was a good tracker, nor a dextrous traveler — nor did she ever pretend to be one, and she would not now! This is what mostly led her in circles during her time traipsing around in the wilds… her own internal, indeterminate compass. It led her here, and now Indie assessed her options. There did not seem to be any way around the bramble, not without adding hours to her trek — not that she had any place to be, of course.

Indie dipped one paw into the thicket, then two — much in the manner she had first stepped into the ocean with the Nereides. Indie attempted to pick her way through, but her plush pelt became entangled with the briars and when she wrested herself from the grips of one branch, she found herself entwined with another. Indie could make it no more than a few feet at a time and her buxom frame did not provide any relief from the raking fingers. There was a rustle of another nearby, and without giving much thought as to why there was another in such an ungodly place, she barked out to the girl who moved so deftly. “What is your secret?” she questioned indignantly, quite clearly flustered by the situation.