My Name is Cuban Pete

Jynn pushed through the emerald green bushes toward the great river. It was a chilly autumn day, the sky a soft gray that darkened toward the horizon. Farther north this meant snow but in the south she expected rain to be more likely. A number of trees grew along the bank, vines draping and twisting from tree to tree. The water itself was steely gray, reflecting the sky though she could tell it was slightly muddy as well.

Jynn approached the edge of the water and peered down where a number of dark green plants and grasses grew along the bottom, some rising above the surface of the water. A spotted fish swam by and she debated about trying to catch one but instead turned her attention to a nearby tree where she stretched up it and used her claws to scratch through the bark and make a trail marker, just in case.