Broken Antler Fen my demeanor tends to disappoint

The mud sucked at his legs as he edged closer, his golden eyes sharp, tracking her every movement. Her words rang defensive, but Qvasir ignored the tone, focusing instead on her predicament. She was young, soft, and clearly unaccustomed to situations like this. He doubted she'd ever seen true hardship—mud was likely the worst offender she'd faced.

No need to explain, he rumbled, voice calm but firm, Just stay still and listen.

Planting his paws firmly on the patch of solid ground he'd identified, Qvasir leaned low, stretching his neck toward her. The cold muck clung stubbornly to her fur, pulling her deeper with every small motion she made. It would take care and strength to pull her free without making it worse.

Take hold of me, he instructed, angling his shoulder toward her for leverage. Use your weight—slow, steady movements.  I got you.::