The situation was getting more desperate now.
Bracken continued to chew the lump of twigs and leaves in her mouth, dutifully swallowing down the grassy saliva. It had smelled much better than it tasted, but it gave her stomach something to do besides painfully digest itself. The young wolf jostled forward suddenly, letting her "meal" fall ungracefully with a shake from her head. She'd seen grizzlies eat blueberries before; curling their tongues skillfully around the clusters of berries. Bracken bite at the ends of the branches, snorting as stems went up her noise in the effort. They weren't the salmonberries she'd grown up around, but they did tinge her new mouthful with a not-unbearable taste.
Her encounter in the Ghastly Forest hadn't been particularly helpful, serving only to let her know that a thicket (perhaps THE thicket) was nearby. She'd gone the other way, swerving away from the direction with her mother's vague warning in her ears. If only Iopah could have guessed the way life was going to unfold for her daughter.
Bracken ventured toward the marsh, gray smudged pelt darkening even more with the moisture. She followed her nose, both tempted and concerned by the stray scent of wolves. An unexpected noise made her head fling up, burnt-orange eyes wide with alarm. She tread carefully into the marsh, pausing momentarily as violent splashing accompanied the odd sound. A pair of blue herons were fighting, croaking at each other and trying to drive the other away from the prized fishing spot. The hungry wolf watched the argument with bright interest. Perhaps one injured the other? Perhaps, she'd be able to catch (and eat!) an injured blue heron?