Tamira

A young gray wolf walked onto the marsh, seeming sluggish. She didn't feel all that great; she was sick. She didn't know how she ended up with a sickness when it was getting to be summer, but she had been swimming on the chillier days, giving her a slight cold. Her body was a disaster. Her once beautiful and glossy pelt was now inked with mud splatters, her lively greenish-yellow eyes had turned dull, robbed of their misheif and playful looks. Her fur was all mangled and in some spots, mostly her shoulders and on certain parts of her legs, were mud caked and still slightly drying. Her ears, once up and facing forward, were now low with slight embaresment. Her tail swayed idly behind her, it too caked in mud. She was all wet. In the places that weren't muddy, the fur had spiked and dripped off the water. She was an easy target for any human or preditor. She was turning weak, very weak, and her ribs were showing greatly. She was in bad shape and was starving. She was also thristy. Luckily, she didn't need to work for that.
Hoping to not be seen, she lowered her body weakily and slowly moved to the water's edge. She looked around and quickly dipped her maw into the cool water. She started lapping it up. It felt great in her throat. She wanted a lot more, so she continued. Her tail was in a slight curve upward as she got in the sitting position, such as how a cat would sit, and she laid on her side, her head in the gently swaying water. Falling occasionally from weakness was the main way of how she had gotten so muddy. She snorted and tried to fall asleep, still at the shore.

Tamira

Tamira suddenly felt strength coming back to her and she quickly wheeled around and dashed away.