She didn’t remember much outside the swamp or the group of does she had fallen amidst. Corrosive and Howl Back were undeniably in charge with the newest arrival falling into place as a sharp fanged council of three. Birch didn’t know what she made of Legion outside of doing her best not to attract the sharp burning gaze of the fellow doe.
She was closer to Mint and Sting, perhaps closer then she had ever thought about being but they were does and they couldn’t give her what she truly wanted. Sting’s glorious tail aside. And the rules were simple, as long as they didn’t bring any bucks to the inner sanctum of their little part of the swamp, the ruling three could care less what she did.
Birch stretched out her neck, hooves beating down on the loam as she pushed herself farther, tail flicking as she simply ran for the sake of movement. The day was crisp, the ground was solid, and she had nothing that she truly needed to do.
