Felltree Marsh new year’s day

boone spat a mouthful of wet sand and mud upon the grass, arms now wrapped around the delicate form.
let's get her situated first, the man says softly, gaze drifting toward the sharp-edged figure of mae. dry, warm. then i'll have her take a look.
he drags the girl toward a patch of exposed grass beneath half-melted sludge and grey snow. she is embarrassed, clearly, and he couldn't blame her. he tries to soothe her with a soft pat of a forepaw to her shoulder. don't you worry about that right now. what's your name, miss? and where'd you come from?