Sun Mote Copse Gunfinger (salute).

alright, alright, otter relents, scoffing as she pulls herself up onto the bank of the creek. she shakes off her feet one by one before settling on the ground, shuddering beneath the breeze which clings to her wet forelimbs.
i mean, i dunno, i like the copse, she shrugs, ears flattening. i don't wanna leave. 'least not for too long.