Otatso Wetlands Frog hunting.

The wandering would always seem to wander, as Boone had taken to in the latter half of his life so-far. He had stopped here and there, made plenty companions along the way, but nothing yet had stolen the lone wolfdog's complete fancy. His heart always yearned for something he could not quite identify. He was a simple guy after all—how hard should happiness be to find?

He saw the pale wolf before he smelled her. She was upwind of him, giving him the disadvantage, though he did not balk at the prospect. His paws had turned gray from wandering through the cold mire most of the day, but his extensive traveling did not mean he could not be social. He was interested in what she could have been searching for when there were no recent trails of any mammals in their vicinity. He could only smell frogs and snakes.

"Hello, ma'am," he greeted her politely, with his pinkish ears pressed forward and his thin tail hanging lankly against his hocks.