Twisted Slough le moineau a volé

Wraen was not facing the girl at an angle to read all the emotions that the mention of "Firebirds" conjured up and if there were any give-aways in the girl's tone on, how she felt about the sister pack, it was entirely lost to her. 

Hear ears were tuned in for the practical information such as "working your feet slowly" and "try to grab something and pull yourself out". She even considered the girl's helping jaws in puling her out, but this idea was dismissed. It would be painful and there was a real risk of losing a limb. 

The second idea was a waste-paper basket material as well - there was nothing really she could get a hold on. Which left perpetuum mobile as the only option. "Alright. Just remember that I would like to have only happy songs at my funeral," she told the girl over her shoulder in a somewhat cheerful manner.

The knowledge that someone was around gave her a chance to look at the situation from a funny side. This was silly, wasn't it? After some shuffling and shifting and an array of motions that did not have definitions in the synonyms thesaurus, Wraen managed to free her paw from the figurative bear-trap. *plop* She pulled it out of the mud and wiggled her toes.

"I did it! One out, three more to go," she announced to her audience. Encouraged by her success, she proceeded. Let's not get in too many details, but it is safe to say that within another 10 - 15 minutes, Wraen wholly caked in mud, save for the eyes, was perching on a lonely island of solidness in the ocean of the mud. Incidentally not too far from her companion. 

"So, do you know, how to get out of here? 'cause I - sure as hell - have lost track," she asked.