What she speaks of intrigues me and slowly, once more, I turn to face in front of me. One would assume the waters do not grow deeper - the colour seems consistent, as if the depth was a constant. Yet, she speaks with a confidence that seems not to lie and yet, perhaps that is her plan. Perhaps she lies for pleasure, for practice - who is to say - and one step to the left shall allow the bogs to take me. The thought turns the corner of my lip up in amusement. I am surely beginning to expect too much from the strangers I meet if I am thinking such thoughts. To be so clever is a trait seldom found.

"Is it a slow death?"

I ask mildly, turning once more to meet her eyes with a slow blink. For now, I will remain still in the bogs, allowing the thick water to settle around me. I am simply curious. This is why I have come. After some moments, however, I take a slow step to my left, finding the ground beneath my paw before completing the movement. I lurch through the waters, my eyes unwavering from her own as I move to speak once more.

"They say not trust Iromar wolves. Did you know?"

My brow raises. Will she take offence? I wonder how far they would go to defend themselves from slander. Do I believe it? Hardly. Why should I? The wolves that say such things are hardly trustworthy themselves. Curiosity, however, is a fine thing to toy with.