Otatso Wetlands Moonjock

The cool drink from the well refreshed Tuwawi's dry palate, sating her thirst and bestowing new energy. The subtle bite of bitter vegetation made the beverage all the more delectable, but not nearly delicious as the free flowing brooks from her mountain's glacier. Misty air was dense with the marsh's brine, for deeper bogs rested towards the center, but the auburn woman did not care to explore this place more thoroughly. The wetlands, to Tuwawi, were not an inviting place. Dank, and usually smelly, they held little draw to the plains-born creature who preferred warmer, drier ground. Navigating, or hunting in, such a soggy place was not her forté or pleasure.

Tuwawi was about to move on, when suddenly, the distant chimes of rippling water caught her attention. Some creature was moving through the marsh. But what? Her ears orbited, curious to know if it was prey or a trespasser. Swiftcurrent hardly allowed any wolf to freely traverse the nearby territories such as Wapun Meadow or Duck Lake, though Otatso was often overlooked by their patrols. Either way, the Sveijarn was already growing indifferent as her attachment to the creek pack dwindled.

A sodden wolf emerged from behind the trees, soaked through with water and peppered with tangled vegetation. His true colors were masked by wetness as drenched hair clung tightly to his skin, the familiar odor of wet dog meeting Tuwawi's nose. "What're you supposed to be? Monster from the swamp?" she mused, having never seen a wolf purposefully cross the wetlands. Why was he journeying at this hour, anyway? "D'you get lost in there? It's almost sun up," she said while drawing nearer, interested in where he was going and why.