Sun Mote Copse and my whole earth shook

The figure vanishes behind a tree. Vermouth snorts, then immediately looks downward to find the best path to the forest below. Carefully, he descends. When he finds himself on a rock shelf overhanging the river, he does a quick calculation and leaps. His belly hits the water with a loud (and painful) slap! It knocks the breath out of him, though he somehow manages to paddle strongly for the shore.

He hauls himself out of the water and catches his breath. When he no longer feels deprived of oxygen, Vermouth gives himself a shake and embarks into the nearby tree line. He tilts his svart muzzle into the air, sifting for scents, his eyes brightening when he captures the one he wants. He tracks it, spots the offending tree and swerves around it.

As soon as he claps eyes on her, he feels a rush of disappointment. She isn’t kvit. She’s pretty in her own right, though Vermouth slides back a step as his mouth draws into a thin line. He’s not only frustrated with his thwarted search but with himself for caring so much about something so arbitrary. He knows better.