Duck Lake Metaphorically, I'm a whore, and that's denial number four

The wolf did not seem to have noticed her, which was initially to Sarah's liking. It meant that she had chosen a good figurative "watch-tower" and reassured her of her skills. After few more minutes, she realized that she was also stuck here. And standing on a wet substrate in cold autumn night was not a prospect she wanted to engage in. She had better things to do with her life than to freeze to death.

After one last glance and the dark wolf and having made sure that he was not going anywhere, Sarah shifted and moved in the reeds and began to splash away. A fast pursuit in her current location was not possible. All would have gone well, except she happened to scare a sleeping duck, which quacking in panic, flapping it's wings loudly took a lift off from it's hiding place and managed to strike the wolf in the muzzle. Quite painfully.

"Bloody hell!" Sarah sweared loudly in sudden burst of emotion, having forgotten that she was not entirely alone here.