Twisted Slough le moineau a volé

The wolf did not directly answer if she were injured, but at least she seemed to still have her strength. Phoebe held onto this promising thread only to let it go when Firebirds dropped out of her mouth. She had heard of them, of course, how could she not? The pack that had split away from the plateau. The first of several unhappy kin, she had surmised not entirely on her own, and certainly not the last.

Her features fell for a moment before she remembered the company she was in, and the distance in her gaze was abandoned with a sure nod. "I think I know where that is. It sounds familiar," and it was only half a lie. She knew where they were, but getting there from here was not entirely on her agenda. Not when she yearned to fly away herself, if only to see what would come of it.

It was a selfish act and she knew this—but she ignored it.

"I don't think you'll die here, though," she picked up again, "I mean I got stuck like that a ways back and I got out. You just have to... work your feet slowly. Try to make some purchase to pull yourself out with. Look for, um—"and here her gaze darted about for ground similiar to what she stood on"—where there's a lot of plants. Grasses, herbs, whichever. If you can get to those, you should be able to keep yourself out of the worst of the muck. Mostly."

Suddenly aware of how verbose she was, she offered: "But how can I help you? Can I pull?"