Otter Creek Act I

it is getting dark, and overhead the sky is overcast and lackluster. it is a uniform silver, spotted here and there by patches of pale blue. it threatens rain, looms, waits. it has done so all day and still the Wilds are dry, and like a sulking child the rainclouds begin to move on slowly, dragging themselves away. the wolf is similarly lackluster and unassuming as it paces the edges of the creek, searching along the bank. the hunter finds what it is searching for soon enough, and drags the frog from the shallows before stealing away to lay hunched beneath a tree, taking it's time in dismembering the tiny morsel before abruptly swallowing all of it in a single motion.