Honeyed Pasture like you've never felt the ground before

The beaver plunged back beneath the water. Renard watched it go, and sighed. As softly as they could make it, but still a sigh. Just for them. Some prey really did drag things out.

With the animal gone for the time being, Renard shifted, made themselves more comfortable on the grassy bank. The idea of just plunging straight into the water was growing more appealing even if it did involve picking branches apart. It would still be frustrating but it would also not be this hot. Either the beaver would run or it would wait there as Renard tore apart its shelter piece by piece -- in this scenario Renard was assuming they were more competent at it than they had been last, shh -- and then someone chuffed politely behind them.

At least they could tell the wolfdog was busy. Which made their thoughts of such an arrival considerably more positive, even though there was a meal in play.

They angled an ear to the sound, turning their head just enough to catch a glimpse of snowy white fur and a brief impression of size. They seemed canine shaped. Good enough. Renard gave a low chuff of their own as invitation -- company could be fun, why not --- and returned their eyes to the dam where the beaver, down in the water, slid free of the tangled branches and slid soundlessly out into the middle of the stream.