Fox's Glade frog's leg soup

there weren't any more frogs to be had in the swamp.

she'd realized it a week ago, yet persisted in her hunting of the witch's bog until the previous morning, because it just wasn't worth the time and effort. not if she was going to slog through the mud for nothing!

magda found solace beneath the trees here, in a spit of wood that smelled of vermin.

better'n nothing, she'd thought, but she hadn't gotten a lick of sleep that night, or any night since.

now the sun was setting at its earliest hour yet; she'd gotten a few hours of light to scour the woods for a meal but, given her luck as of late, there was nothing here for her. the stench of wolf had become pretty strong upon the wind and she blamed that for her poor fortunes.