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

one of the fat bloodsuckers fell to the frozen ground with a splat: indra watched its wriggling form, a defiling oil-black against the pristine snow. her muzzle reflected well the disgust she felt.

she looked back up to the male warily. his aspect was frenetic in a way that was unfamiliar. she could not genuinely ascertain his motives, and as such, any wolf -- or male, really -- with unclear purpose was a danger she could not afford.

she wanted dearly to flee, but his feral gaze forbade it. her core felt violated by the intensity of his eyes, as if he were peering straight through her. she felt trapped like a bug under glass in his fervid and inescapable stare. "okay." she glanced around them for some sort of leverage - anything to ensure her survival.

loathe to draw close and even more chilled with the prospect of turning her back to him, indra stumbled backwards before slowly making for the gnarled face of a winter-worn and half-rotted blue spruce that had collapsed to the ground in rot years ago.