Felltree Marsh The Lady of the Lake

Planning to backdate at least a little; exact timing is flexible, if anyone who wants to join would like it moved about some.

BE FOREWARNED though I am fairly slow at posting still, atm! what with a sleep-regressing infant and othersuch fun RL things to get in the way, though I do expect things will improve some as this goes. ;)

She stood on the far Northeast edge of the bog, and squinted as she peered through the misty drizzle as far as her eyes could make out. Her ears were flattened level with her skull, and rather smaller, thinner, and more pathetic-looking than usual as the endless rain wet them down, though unlike on most wolves it didn't change their color much in the process. Her expression was decidedly disgruntled. Not only was it difficult to see much, the pattering rain dampened most everything, metaphorically as well as literally—it washed out much of the usual wildlands sound of the area and was as if her nose had been stuffed full of wet moss and mud itself. Even her paws felt leaden down and nigh-permanently chinked together by the mudballs between and upon her pawpads at this point, she'd swear.

Okay, so even though she didn't want to admit it, even though she'd striven so long and hard to win free of the place to begin with, she didn't like that the weather kept getting in her way and preventing her from going home. And she probably shouldn't've wandered off quite so far. It was way different somehow when it wasn't her choice to stay away, all right? and besides—there were the littlest ones to think of. How exactly were her youngest siblings (okay, half-siblings) supposed to grow up any better than her littermates if Brouhaha was not there to guide them with her shining example and brilliant insights?! This blasted weather didn't seem to care what terrible impact it might be having on the young though. It just kept raining...and raining...and raining.

She didn't see any way across just yet, as she perched there on the less-rotted higher half of the furthest-out mossy, water-slimed log. Admittedly though it was still pretty difficult to see anything, and so for now Brou turned about, to trudge beneath the at-least-marginally-less-wet green canopy of a nearby tree that was still upright, to give it awhile longer and see if either the dawning light or progression of the day with accompanying emptying of the clouds might improve things.