The Floodlands Jackpot

Three days later, the darkling could be spotted meandering through the soggy floodlands. She looked exceptionally drab; shining like an oil-slick beneath the October sun, and otherwise a mess of matted, twig-laden furs. She reeked of bog water.

This was a proving ground. Mag didn't enjoy her current state but, she reasoned as she sulked along, this was immeasurably better than life along the coast. Here there was freedom. Here, for the most part anyway, she could fish and feast to her belly's contentment without paying trade fees.

She kept her nose low to the loam, and snaked her tongue out for the occasional test of the stillwater all around. If a frog croaked she would slow and stalk after it.