The Floodlands I'm doing fine, trying to derail my one track mind

briggs ventured out. it was awful wet in the hinterlands, swamps and bowls of water and lakes and endless rivers. and rain! he wasn't much for staying soggy all the time.
the promise of herons in the floodflats pulled him out from beneath the trees. he caught one purely by luck and devoured it, spitting feathers.
from then, he chased others, getting the lay of the unsteady terrain that seemed to mark many places in the tuktu. a lone dragonfly hummed past him; he drew up and noticed only then he was not alone. what he presumed was a tall woman stepping with confidence just beyond colt. he jerked his chin in her direction, chuffing a note to grab her attention.