Otatso Wetlands 2 "if only the day would linger."

Poor Grandmother. She was stuck against the ground. The mud cuffed her cheeks and went up her nose. When she did finally pry her face up and away, the mud was everywhere. Her black mask was now brown and it extended across the whole of her pointed little snout.

Another push and her chest was free. She felt the softness of the mud give between her digits. The black of her hands and wrists now became shiny and brown to match. The plush fur of her belly was reduced to a skin-tight cling, giving her the look of something flattened, at least on her ventral side.

Grandmother tried to blink the mud from her little eyes, to no avail. Then she rubbed at them with painted fists, teetering around on her hind legs, propped up by her thick-set tail. Grasping at air. When a voice came booming from around her she did not stop. She had been alive for many seasons and she had yet to meet a friendly dog, or to learn its language.

In her state of defilement the raccoon looked more like a bog monster's baby. She could not see where she was going, and so she waddled with arms reaching, straight in to the path of the wolf. As she reached and grasped she hoped to find something to use as a cloth, and grasped at something soft that draped from above — this, she promptly dragged across her face.