Frogspawn Swamp a grin made for war

with the thick and oppressive fog that writhed and lay over the swamp and the muck that she sludges thru ...praimfaya does not expect for anyone to call out. least of all a voice with the tell-tale tones of a cub. unexpected as it is, praimfaya at first considers it as nothing more than a figment of her imagination ran rampant in the territory that in it's present state looks like it came out of some fairytale as the witch's dwelling.

...and then something makes praimfaya give pause; 'what if' looming over her head like the gleam of a guillotines' sharpened blade. what if the voice wasn't a figment of her imagination? what if there really was a cub wandering thru the swamp? what if they're lost? hei! before she can stop herself, the trigedasleng greeting is slipping out from betwixt her lips; carrying through the fog and over the symphony of frogs.

her steps follow the decision soon after, course altering as she seeks to make contact with the cub hoping that she wasn't imagining the voice or that she would not find herself at the sharp edge of a warpath mother.