Wapun Meadow consonants

Thank you for the thread! I'm still pretty new so please let me know if I do anything wrong so I can correct it! 

With a slow hum of some old wolven song, Grackle padded through the field. This place wasn't all that bad now that she was out of that bit with all the disgusting water, and this piece of landscape was particularly beautiful. Her large ears flicked to and fro, focusing on all the different songs flitting about her. She, confessedly, was one of the party to think of butterflies as foolish, scatterbrained creatures, but their poetry entertained her nonetheless.

The tall black wolf pulled herself down into a deep bow, stretching her toes out in front of her, before rolling onto her back. She had traveled long and far, and there was no one here to bother her. What would be so wrong with a little rest? She wiggled among the flowers, drinking in their scent with a contented smile. This place was no forest, her preferred type of terrain, but this field was a pretty nice alternative (even if the lack of trees was rather alarming).

Oh butterflies, She called from her place between the flowers, Sing to me so that I might trade you a story of my own. Grackle, admittedly, was no bard, although she did admire them quite a bit. Their ability to spin and weave stories from thin air was nothing short of praiseworthy. While she lacked the creative genius to come up with anything original (or at least original and good), if push came to shove, she would recite one of the old stories her mother told her as a pup.