Cricket Creek Bog shadowy and vague

The sounds stopped for a bit. Mag listened anyway, turning her head, trying to figure out where the raven had gone. They oft knew where the best carrion was, after all. Much as she loved to hunt and to eat frogs, an easy meal was an easy meal. She began to prowl along again when a strange strangled sound erupted from among the treetops - it wasn't a crowing as she'd know it.

The wolf stopped and quietly surveyed upward, as much as she could lift her head up and do so. She did not want to climb any tree trunks, fight with the hanging moss from overhead, or potentially disrupt the shelf fungus that staircased along the trees in places; she saw a bundled body of puffed feathers eventually, but saw no head to the bird (unaware he was cowering).

The woman's head tilted one way, then another. She moved to the base of that particular tree and scoured the ground beneath, as if she might find his missing part. Instead she found puffballs - white mushrooms which grew very low and very round, some which were deflated. As Mag touched one with a hind toe, it burst with spores and she let out a quiet expletive as these drifted the air.