Twisted Slough i wish you'd die in the mire

There was a faint thumping in his chest, so faint he'd hardly recognized it against the squelch of mud beneath his paws. The rhythmic beating of an anxious heart he thought to be stone cold by now, swirling a nonsensical, nauseating storm in his chest. It puzzled him terribly to feel that ill, at least just enough to be distracting as he'd begun lagging behind his muse. His strides stretched longer to make up the distance, body still crouched low to the ground as he stalked above the mud and moss expertly.

It was as if his Cormorant knew, like he'd taken them there on purpose, just the two of them alone in a fortress of trees. Magpie's eyes seemed to glitter at the thought, with wide blown pupils that swallowed every sliver of flaxen fur that flashed between the gnarled roots. The truth was just as enticing as his fantasy however, a tale of fox and rabbit he replayed over and over in his mind. The image of a frightful thing fully aware of what lingered just out of sight, anticipating its inevitable strike.

A low growl rolled like gentle thunder in his throat, completely void of aggression. He only wished for a glance back to the shadows he stalked, or the trembling call of a wolf so certain it had dwelled in solitude. Though of course, as he already knew well, that wouldn’t satisfy for long.