It quickly became clear to the little cat that he was not well-suited to trekking through the mud. It swallowed his stumpy legs with each step, reaching just past his elbows and sticking uncomfortably to the fur along his chest and belly as he stumbled clumsily after the lanky wolf. His fins did little to help, pressing heavy against his back and digging deep furrows through the soil. Almost instantly Delta could feel himself regretting his choice to leave the water, but he swallowed his complaints and set his jaw as he yet again ripped his paw from the wet mud with an unpleasant squelch and set it forward in another sinking step.
Despite his best efforts, Delta could tell he was lagging behind the graceful wolf. At least it's not dry, he reasoned. One of the (many) reasons he disliked staying on land was for the discomfort of feeling his usually slick pelt dry into an itchy, frazzled fuzz. The mud at least kept the moisture from leeching out, even if it was replaced instead by the unfortunate sensation of being so...well, covered in mud.
A wave of relief crashed over Delta as Loch paused, stumbling forward to slowly close the gap between them as he battled to keep himself from visibly panting. His ears pricked at the nickname, but he was too preoccupied with catching his breath to wonder if the wolf had forgotten his name. He was unused to the custom after all; Delta had never had a nickname of his own. As he stopped to stand beside Loch again, he noticed the little cracked shell held aloft in his paw. Did he collect them?
A small spark of determination ignited in his chest as he nodded, burying his grievances with the mud with the new task of finding a shell to repay the wolf's kindness with. He gave a few tentative sniffs around the ground, dragging himself along slowly behind him as he too combed the flats for anything of particular interest. Maybe it's better I'm so close to the ground, Delta thought sardonically.
"What is your favorite color, Loch?" he suddenly asked, scratching clumsily at a clump of sawgrass to unearth another cracked, unimpressive looking shell. He discarded it with a flick of his paw, wrinkling his muzzle at the sensation of mud now caught against the underside of his claws. His lungs burned with both the change from water to air and the sudden workout, and he parted his jaws slightly to pant as discreetly as he could as he worked to scan the mud for anything interesting.
DICE ROLL: Perception
SUCCESS: Delta finds the shell of a clam. It's around 3-4 inches wide, intact on the back and can still open and close. He excitedly shows it off to Loch.
FAILURE: Delta steps on a sharp bit of broken shell hidden under the mud and yelps, shaking out his cut paw.
Despite his best efforts, Delta could tell he was lagging behind the graceful wolf. At least it's not dry, he reasoned. One of the (many) reasons he disliked staying on land was for the discomfort of feeling his usually slick pelt dry into an itchy, frazzled fuzz. The mud at least kept the moisture from leeching out, even if it was replaced instead by the unfortunate sensation of being so...well, covered in mud.
A wave of relief crashed over Delta as Loch paused, stumbling forward to slowly close the gap between them as he battled to keep himself from visibly panting. His ears pricked at the nickname, but he was too preoccupied with catching his breath to wonder if the wolf had forgotten his name. He was unused to the custom after all; Delta had never had a nickname of his own. As he stopped to stand beside Loch again, he noticed the little cracked shell held aloft in his paw. Did he collect them?
A small spark of determination ignited in his chest as he nodded, burying his grievances with the mud with the new task of finding a shell to repay the wolf's kindness with. He gave a few tentative sniffs around the ground, dragging himself along slowly behind him as he too combed the flats for anything of particular interest. Maybe it's better I'm so close to the ground, Delta thought sardonically.
"What is your favorite color, Loch?" he suddenly asked, scratching clumsily at a clump of sawgrass to unearth another cracked, unimpressive looking shell. He discarded it with a flick of his paw, wrinkling his muzzle at the sensation of mud now caught against the underside of his claws. His lungs burned with both the change from water to air and the sudden workout, and he parted his jaws slightly to pant as discreetly as he could as he worked to scan the mud for anything interesting.
DICE ROLL: Perception
SUCCESS: Delta finds the shell of a clam. It's around 3-4 inches wide, intact on the back and can still open and close. He excitedly shows it off to Loch.
FAILURE: Delta steps on a sharp bit of broken shell hidden under the mud and yelps, shaking out his cut paw.