Cricket Creek Bog if lies were cats you'd be a litter

she traveled along the intinerant treeline between boughs of douglas fir and ice-capped nettle. she moved quickly and unsurely and at intervals would stop and fan her ears back and her head would cast every which way as if looking for something. she was alone but she moved as if she expected company.

the snowbattered expanse of pine filtered into a deep delve and at the bottom of that slope a frozen bog rested, its surface black and ice thick as fingernails against the bank. she slid down the slope in careful limping jumps and frozen shards of snow and ice skittered past her. several hundred feet away a wolf's bent form caught her attention and she stood upright immediately with he hackles raised in quill-like gestures.

she could not make his words out but could hear his mutterings - she squinted as she thought she saw something trailing around his neck. carefully she lowered her muzzle to the bank and licked along the exposed cracks in the ice, never once moving her gaze from his huddled form.