Blackfeather Woods they might promise you that the river aint too deep

you dared, you get. set for like, tuesday or something @Kove

burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. 

a mightier fit of belching had never before fell on the grim pallor of the eldritch trees: they listened to astara's symphony of horrid croaks with a weathered and weary disdain, their long limbs creaking as if offering their own sordid feedback.

burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. burp. bu---------------

it had been the ingestion of one too many -- ten too many -- frogs. upon finding her vigor restored astara had first hit the caches with a mighty earnest - anything edible within sight was digested (unless it was a plant - to HELL WITH PLANTS!) and then, feeling her glut yet unsatisfied, astara had spent the next hour plucking frogs from their dismal pond; the cold made them sleepy, which made them slow, which made astara a very fat and content night-cub indeed.