Fishblight Mire She loved the lines around his mouth

Paisley's focus on the hunt would soon be broken by the squealing of a second wolf just around the bend. A shrill shriek made the very same heron start and then wing away, leaving only imprints in the mud where its long legs had been. Fish scattered in the murky water. Soon the only creature making a peep in the swamp was the culprit.

Alyx, you see, had stepped in the wrong place. She'd been careful to place her paws just so before, picking her way precariously through the mud with no shortage of grumbles about the state of her fur and how she'd ended up here in the first place, but then she misjudged a patch of what she thought was solid ground. Sinking chest deep in the foulest smelling mud she'd ever encountered proved too much for the prissiest Redhawk, who began to screech in a blood-curdling fashion that did not suit the situation in the slightest.

In the process, she ensured that every prey animal within several miles of the vile swamp was on high alert, something she might care more about if she knew someone was trying to hunt nearby and if only she wasn't so self-absorbed.