Otatso Wetlands mud masks

Irene’s ears flicked back, a faint flush of embarrassment prickling beneath her fur at the snowwoman’s careful assessment. She stiffened slightly, her emerald eyes narrowing, but there was no true anger there—only a touch of defensiveness. Enjoying is a strong word, she replied, her voice carrying a wry edge. Let’s just say it’s keeping me from going hungry.

She watched the strange woman circle her, the scrutiny making her shift her weight uneasily. Normally, she didn’t care for others’ opinions—especially strangers—but there was something in the stranger’s calm, measured tone that dug at her pride. 

Messy, I know, she admitted, her gaze dropping briefly to the bloodied carcass. Her tail flicked once, betraying her frustration. Tracking? I could cross the entire tundra with wind to find prey. But hunting... well, let’s just say it’s not exactly my finest skill. She exhaled sharply, meeting the snowwoman’s gaze with a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Not my best work, she added with a shrug, her voice softer now. But it got the job done.