Narrow peach eyes squinted against the downpour, watching the water lap at the edges of the lagoon. It seemed unseasonable, the snow barely having a chance to stick to the ground before being melted away by the never-ending rain. If ice remained, it would be unsafe to walk on, and an observer wouldn't be sure if the snort that left her then was at a silent observation or from a frigid drop of water sliding into her nose. She didn't like it.
Lifting her rump from the ground with a shake (for all the good it would do her), she thought to check and see if the meadow was as waterlogged as the marsh. It wouldn't bode well for them or the Ridge if all their low-lying hunting grounds were swallowed up by water.