Raglan
may the bridges i burn light the way
He didn’t know what he had been expecting.
A swamp was a swamp was a swamp, he supposed, and as the rich mud sucked at pale hooves, Raglan felt a bit of regret at deciding to explore this particular region of Terrastella. While the sun was still low enough in the sky to be considered morning, the mahogany stallion had been tromping about the shaded expanse of the Tinea Swamp since just after dawn. A thick fog still clung to the lower reaches of the marsh and Raglan’s shoulders and back were damp with sweat — a definite perk in comparison to the frigid conditions closer to the perimeter of the territory.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, or if anything could be found, but despite the bugs and the humidity, the child within him had to admit that the ugly slorping of the muck was entertaining. Nostrils flaring, the pegasus found that he was beginning to develop an understanding of how the swampy smell had been layered; there was new rot, old rot, moisture, gentle and pungent decay, mildew, and the sweet earthy aroma of mud mud mud. Even the murky water had a scent all it’s own, and Raglan wondered that if he spent enough time there amid the gnarled roots, whether he too would start to carry the smell in his skin.
A gasp parted darkened lips as the horned stag pressed his hoof to what he had thought was a patch of solid earth only to have the leg dip down into a shallow hole. Luckily, he was able to recover his balance and yanked the aforementioned limb from the muck without much consequence, but the Crow began to test surfaces before he stepped fully. Part of him wondered at the life that thrived even in the dead of winter — was it magic or was it just powerful nature?
What else thrived in the marsh?
Would they think he was tasty?
"Talk"
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