Cricket Creek Bog noms away

Whim's friend request was accepted instantly. If they had been technologically advanced wolves it would have been like sending a request via Facebook (Wolfbook?) and two seconds later seeing Toad's profile proudly displayed on the friend's section of her wall. They would have sent Waves (Tailwags) via Wolfbook messenger by now too. But alas, they were just two wild chicas vibin in a muddy bog.

She made a delightful 'oooooh' face at the other's name. Whim was particularly fond of her beloved, though often grumpy and begruding, toad advisors. A wolf named Toad was even more awesome than the amphibians themselves. "That's the best news I've heard all week! Not just my first official friendship in this land, but also your name is wonderful. I have a deep respect for those bumpy little dudes, they've saved my ass more than once." She went silent for a moment to appreciate said toads.

"I come from a place called Mossdew valley, yep yep. Somewhere back 'attaway," she motioned in a broadly Southeast direction with her muzzle, "But I've been traveling for about three full moons. What about you? Were you born in this place? It's so... big and, and... lively."