Swiftcurrent Creek disappointed people clinging onto bottles

Eshe certainly knew a lot about whatever it was she was talking about. With Wren, on the other hand, it flew right over her head — naturalism was the absolute furthest thing from her specialty.
Oh, how stupid she felt.
You sure know a lot about, uh, plants, it was meant to be a compliment, but she was sure it didn't sound to be such, and so she adds; it's cool.
Pretty, way too nice, hadn't been interrogated upon admittance to the Creek, and now she's smart? Jesus, what a woman. Wren felt so small in comparison, so useless. She half wanted to run off right then and there, go drown her sorrows and lock herself in the noiseless cavern of her den.
Eshe probably bothered to decorate her den. She seemed the type — girly, floral; a gentle sunsnow. Wren was more of a mud puddle.
The thoughts brew in her stomach, churning and twisting, and for a good moment, she simply stares.
But then, she decides to shuffle further into the shrubbery, there's a rustling sound from a berry bush a few yards further ahead. Might've found our culprit drunkard. she lowers her voice to a whisper and points with a raised paw. You wanna do the honors? I suck at ambushing.