Joanna Newsom - Sprout and the Bean
Overcast - 72° F/22° C
The trees and the sloping banks of the brook were covered in mosses, in some places almost looking like the two were one. On one hand Fiora was nervous of every step she took, not sure what was laying beneath the dull green fuzz, but on the other it looked like something straight out of the stories she'd heard when she was younger. Ivy growing around the trunks, magic grass carpeting everything you saw. These were things of wonder and, though she was hardly a pup any more, she still recalled the details of fairy tales quite vividly.
The recent lack of rainfall had receded the waters to some extent - she could see on the roots of trees that grew alongside the stream where the water level usually was, and made certain not go step in that deceptive muck. Her paws were dirty enough as it was. Fiora had made the executive decision not to move too close to the water - even though it was pretty the way the green of the surrounding forest reflected on the surface, the lack of definitive banks on either side made her particularly distrusting of the surface on which she deigned to walk.
Up here on the rise she was safe - well, so she thought. Her paw had barely made an indent in the ground when she knew she'd made a bad call. Her leathery pad sunk right through the moss-covered surface. Taken off-guard by the mud (which she had sworn looked solid) she was helpless as the gunk dragged her forward. Before she knew it she was slipping right down the brookside, all kinds of grossness flying into her face as she plummeted. Fiora came to a halt just moments before being launched into the murky waters by means of an exposed root catching her by her back paw, effectively stopping her descent but also throwing her chest-first into the muddy bank.
So much for the fairy tale. Thoroughly disillusioned now she took a moment to slowly open her eyes, taking care to see that any of the dirt on her face wouldn't get in her eyes. Once Fiora was certain her gaze turned vicious, pale and full of white-hot rage. Unceremoniously she wrenched her legs from the muck and stood as best as she could on the unstable surface, trembling with a maidenly outrage. In disbelief she remained motionless, underside dripping with mud, and shrieked her displeasure for all to hear. "Eeeewwwwuuuhhh!"