The Floodlands Whisper, Oh, Great West

West.

Traveler spoke greatly of the west.

That is where her feet took her. Weaving through bramble, pushing underneath thickets, gliding across wet grounds. Where the river flew ahead and parted into two, she met it at its departure. Salty winds traveled from the north, foreign in its aroma. What could be so different? Strange! Peculiar! Like nothing she'd ever breathed. Belly pressed down against soft grasses, something new as a concept entirely to her, her paws greedily gripped at lush, silky mother earth while father sky kissed her pelt in plenty.

An ashy spill against vibrant meadows. Innumerable amounts of wolves were close. The imp rested in wait, patient in her time while the river rushed only feet away from her body. That soft, rushing coo. 

Much like her great serpent, she stayed; yet she was not hidden, nor did she make attempt to hide by any means. Out in the open, belly rested, hyper eyes searching on a lazy neck with intrigue while often turning her head to the scent of many wolves pinched unbeknownst to her between the secondary split of this river.

Watching them in nose.

Say hello! Say hello! Say hello!