Frogspawn Swamp rowdy ramblin'

The sound of the marsh, not even the most intentionally ignorant could ignore, chorusing croaks and creaky ribbits, and Fluke was high-stepping intently to the occasional plop or splash of frogs throwing themselves into the water at her arrival. While a fair hunter, she always enjoyed a test of mettle, and the test today appeared to be the skittish frogs congealing around her, a real mushy snack or two just waiting for her to lunge—this would be why, of course, the shadow of a wolf hunkered down between some tall, densely packed reeds, allowing her snout to poke out and making a bit of a window for her to view the potential catches that she knew would inevitably cross her path.

Now all she had to do was wait.