Felltree Marsh I'm left looking at the glowing ends

once upon a time, he hadn't been allowed to go into the marsh. or, rather, it had never been that explicit—but mummy had been so worried when he'd wandered this way and had rushed to fetch him back. the squelching mud and dank atmosphere had never been to his liking, but. . .

what else was there to do? no one was in the willows. he'd checked. he was alone. mummy would not be coming to retrieve him.

so, overcome by curiosity, boredom and a deep-seated dread if he were to stay in the forest for much longer, cam wandered out into the mire, grimacing as his paws sank into the wet earth. he was much bigger than he'd been when he was here last, so the muck only went up to his ankles instead of, say, his belly. that didn't make it any less disgusting, in his humble opinion.

but all thoughts of mud and stink and filth vanished when he heard the howl, and followed the sound, which led him to a heavily-scarred brown woman. cam began to sidle toward her, ears pushed forward atop his head in silent query. he let out a bark, his voice hoarse with disuse, and cocked his chin, looking at the stranger.

was she looking for the wolves of elysium, too?