Witch's Marsh jeena yahaan, marna yahaan

It was the smell that bothered her the most.

an amalgamism of foul odors assaulted her nose as she waded through the muck: mold, stagnant water ripe with decaying plants and fish,  waterlogged mud. the smell so insulted her that she wore a nearly immobile expression of disgust, ears back, snout wrinkled. meanwhile, the sensation of mud and slime between the pads of her paws was one she could have happily lived without.  

Hollis reached a small isle where the earth underfoot was somewhat dry and hopped upon it. she needed a break before returning to the vile soup. 

it was then that the she wolf realized she wasn’t alone. an agouti male made his way across the water, looking similarly uncomfortable with his situation. 

Tossing her head against a group of loitering mosquitoes, Hollis called out to him, “Hullo - I see I’m not the only one who thought it would be a good idea to cross the swamp,” she said flatly. The other option being to go around it; but Hollis wasn’t the most patient of women.