Otatso Wetlands I won't give up, no I won't give in.

Although Winter's chill had frozen most of the bog, Artyom found some areas to have thawed considerably. His paws sank in some areas, rendering ivory fur at his lower limbs slick with dark mud with each misjudgment he made.

He carried on, doing his best to stick to areas where the mud seemed less thawed, and twitched his nose in distaste as his toes squelched beneath him. It wasn't pleasant, and he hoped traipsing through the marsh would at least yield some results in his search for missing pack-mates, and his ears pricked forward hopefully at the sound of another pulling his feet free of the icy sludge just ahead.

Vision limited by snowfall, Artyom blinked a stray snowflake from his lashes and snaked his tongue between lips to sweep them from his whiskers. He squinted his gaze in attempt to see better, and paused as the movement before him began to sound more... distressed.

A stranger came crashing closer, already made sodden and rugged by the wetlands, and the pale ranger swept forward to assist. "You okay?" Artyom asked, curious as to who he was but unable to identify any pack scent beyond the aroma of stinking bog mud. He offered help that was not required, and so each wolf went on their way.