The news had been good. Both scouts had returned with very different tales, but all the same, the ladies had returned and shared information with the rest of their drift. There was clean water for them to drink, their was plenty of space for all their family and more, and perhaps most importantly to the young male tromping through the Drooping Willows, there was a veritable smorgasbord of every type of food a wild swine could imagine. That it had snowed a few days prior met little, for the frost was followed by rain, and the cold had yet to kill everything good growing on the earth.
The chill hardly nipped at his thick hide as the youth rumbled through the forest, pausing at the edge of where the forest met the meadow to crunch on the remaining stalks of yellow rattle. That it may or may not have any medicinal properties meant little to the pig – in fact, it might not have stopped him even to know the plant was toxic, for he was able to stomach much more than your average pig (and that was truly saying something about the strength of his gut).
Without regard for others that may have taken up residence in the area, the pig continued to root, grunting as he tore through the edge of the meadow and leaving deep, muddy furrows in his wake.