It soon became very clear that where the wolf Shawchert tread he was not alone, for even with a snake’s deafness one could still hear the raucous noise coming from the tree branches above. The less than graceful sounds of struggling were coming from one of the many trees just a few feet out from the fence that traced the border of AniWaya, and upon ocular inspection it seemed the lower limbs had become stricken with a peculiar case of pink fuzziness. Attached to that swinging, swaying pink fluff was a wiggling white rump, and of course, the rest of the small Tundra girl’s ivory body.
Orin was such a contradiction. Eyes that fell upon her current predicament would assume she was just some clumsy girl, yet due to her size and height she usually wasn’t this awkward. How does a girl who is usually quite graceful get herself into this mess? Well, really it was a matter of wandering attention. If only she could focus she probably wouldn’t have made the wrong step. So what had happened?
The bit of snapped branch on the ground, and shavings of bark were a pretty good indicator. The bright red fruit clutched into her fist was another good clue. The girl had been climbing the tree to fetch a piece of late-ripening fruit, and at some point had lost her concentration (big surprise) and slipped from the branch that had held her. Now she draped awkwardly over a bent limb, her foot wedged awkwardly into a fork in the tree trunk. She scowled and grunted, trying to yank her pinched foot to freedom, but her efforts were in vain. She held her top half up only by a limb she had caught under her armpit, and her tail and rump dangled helplessly from the tree.
All the while, the leaves rustled and swayed with her shifting weight.