Blackfeather Woods periodic

the muds seeping through her fur, strangely cold, but she doesn't care about the stink anymore. her attention is solely on Venamis trying not to betray her growing unease. he takes a stride nearer, and she swallows, throat feeling a little tight. she really wants to bolt in the other direction, but that option has already been discarded. 

instead, she shuffles backward, mud squelching against her hindquarters and a brief tug of disgust warring against the fear. she's silent, wondering if he can hear the drumming of her heart. perhaps the mire will open up beneath her and she'll sink below. that would be nice. she half rises, wondering if she'll have to make a run for it after all.