mysterious omen

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.