She barely felt it - it was almost like a kiss from the wind - but it was enough to wake the sleeping girl. Bicolored eyes flickered open to see a face staring at her. It was a beautiful golden-amber butterfly, staring down at her almost with intent. She dared not blink, not breathe, not move - nothing to frighten the creature - but eventually, the little bug rose on its own. It lingered near her den, flying in tight circles, almost as if it was beckoning her. Gingerly she rose, and the butterfly began to fly off in a direction in her swamp. She wasted no time following after the creature, passing over a sleeping Detka on her way.

The butterfly did not tire. She was surprised at how fast it was. As long-legged a she was, it was still a chore to match the erratic pace of the butterfly. Her heart was pounding in anticipation of what could happen. Was it going to show her something magical, something supernatural? Was she actually dead, and all of this happening in her head? Her brain pulsed with questions and no answers.
A scent hit her nose that crushed many of her ideas about what was happening. It was the scent of rotting, of death. She wondered what it was, and so close to her den? The butterfly zoomed ahead and landed on something sticking up out of the murk. Her eyes recognized it - a rib bone. A canine rib bone. Gods, what was this now?

She approached the stinky pile of decay and realized it was a coyote body, not a wolf. She leaned down and sniffed. It was partially eaten. Perhaps had been there for a few days. How did she not notice, or hear such a commotion? Unless it died of natural causes. There wasn't enough flesh left to see, and the bones were cracked from the scavengers eating the body. The butterfly moved and landed on something especially suspicious - a small pile of picked flowers that lay next to the body. Is... is this a grave? Or a coincidence? "Och lon'ore morfankane fan lorhekane fan tahlon. Fan fan me? Morfankane tahkane morloniona?" I think coyote no respect for death. Or do they? Coyote leave flowers? She mumbled to herself. The language was Fennish, the words of the swamp wolves.

She glanced around. This was close to her home, close to the home of her swamp family. "Morfankane he. Mifan och morfankane? Fan fefankane fan mm fankane. Lonoch och fan'oreha." Coyote died. Who kill coyote? So close to my home. This is ominous. She had never seen a coyote in the swamp, and their presence made her worry. Perhaps her family could shed some insight into this matter.

Mud raised her long snout into the wind and let out a soft song, calling all who called the Fen their home and their way of life, right away. Her tone implied urgency and fear. "Fan Och bon." Now we wait.

Ordinarily, Mossy wouldn’t have heard the low summons. While much of the family resided among the mangroves, she often frequented the swamplands herself. It was only the intrusion of a family of loud and colourful giants that had driven her to, at least temporarily, relocate closer to this particular heart tree. The company here had always been good, and maybe just a little of her teenage, I don’t need no help I can make it on my own! was wearing off… Maybe.

She had been up to her chin in the water, mimicking a gator in the way she was attempting to stalk the family of swine on the banks. Her nose, eyes and ears were all that stood above the waterline, concealed among the finger-like roots of the many trees that made up much of the solid land around here. Sure, on a larger wolf, maybe one like Puddle, it’d probably only come up to their chest, but she had to work with what she was given, and the water didn’t get much shallower than here.

The summons, however, was enough to put an end to her stalking, her porky pals were now on high alert and any surprise advantage she had was lost. With some amusement, despite her grumbly belly, the girl leapt towards her porcine prey with a loud growl and a peal of cackling laughter. They scattered like the wind, squealing all the while.

Not bothering to shake off the sea grass that was tangled in her fur from the estuarine waters, or to lessen the weight of her waterlogged fur, Moss sloshed her way towards the caller. Her legs lifted unnaturally high across drier sections of ground, just in case she accidentally stepped into a concealed patch of sucking mud. Again. After all, it wasn’t like she had a lot of tail left to spare after the last time…

Finally finding Mud, looking very concerned, the tiny girl plonked herself down, lifting a leg to scratch at the loose skin and fur around her neck, sending debris scattering from her fur with the movement. All this salty water and sand wasn’t doing her skin any good. ”What you got there?” She asked the other woman casually. Whatever it was STUNK! …and Moss was barely resisting the urge to roll in it.