Frogspawn Swamp The lives we've reclaimed.

A day spent creeping through the muck of the slough ended with Firefly finding a place to roost for the night among the foothills of a mountain, and in the morning he continued his roaming "vacation" until the scent of the slough had drifted away and all around him was the clean, crisp scent of fresh water. He stopped to drink from a smaller pond of swamp water and immediately regretted it; but his presence disrupted the native fauna all the same, and soon the upset of the water's foul taste was forgotten as he began to stalk after the resident frogs.

Despite the jolt of their movements, Firefly managed to corner a few and do away with them before they could escape in to the deeper waters. He found that they clustered along the edge rather than the center of the swampy ponds, and with some focus he found a number of plump amphibians in the reeds. He made a mental note never to come this way again — frog meat was curious for its flavor and consistency, but it was easier to stick to the slow-moving crabs of the seaside.

By the time he'd eaten his fill he was soggy from swamp muck and tired from the amount of work the hunt had taken. He stopped to rest on an exposed segment of hillside where the pines were not so thick, and let the spring sunlight warm and dry his coat. He knew he would need to turn around soon — he had spent at least a full day too long roaming — but he wasn't yet ready to give in to his future role as a father.