Cricket Creek Bog comme un boomerang

Niamh's mind was elsewhere as she departed from the borders of the copse that fell away to the bog, though she was relieved to find that the ground had finally begun to harden again underfoot. Following the rainy month of August, she'd thought that she'd never be able to pass through the area again without getting up to her knees in muck, but the cooler weather had begun to firm up the footing, which would make it easier for her to prowl the area, in search of something small to bring back and stash away in a cache. A duck or a muskrat or someting along those lines, perhaps. 

She had not been expecting to pick out a tall, thin, pale figure in the distance- and she surprised herself with how she relieved to see another wolf who wasn't just another Déorwine traipsing about the lands so close to her home. He could have been, of course- but she still assumed that the Kingslend wolves all looked more or less the same. This fellow, slender and tall just like her- perhaps more thin, and perhaps longer in body- looked fairly calm, sedate. Nevertheless, the golden Regent was always guietly on guard, and greeted him with a somewhat stiff nod.