Frogspawn Swamp anung un rama

The mental image of a fat frog slapping at the air made me choke on my tea, tyvm for that.

The shape of the other wolf could have been anything. Raimo initially did not see it for what it was — a mass of mud among the grass, nothing beyond that — and would have remained oblivious had there not been the wet slap of the frog against the earth. His ears pivoted first and then the entirety of his concentration focused on that voice, that face.

There wasn't much white left on the wolf, so Raimo would not immediately deduce that they were pale in any way. More of a dingy yellow in some places, a sour green-brown everywhere else. Black where the shadows crossed with drying patches. A cursory series of sniffs did not bring Raimo much information either, only the acrid smell of the mire.

Watching the stranger was one thing, but Raimo found himself drawn to the frog struggling where it was pinned. Lovely isn't the word I'd use, he admitted, grimacing. Beyond that he had no answer, keeping any pertinent information to himself for the time being.

This was about the last place he'd expect another person to be, in all honesty.