Fishblight Mire underscore one point one

Pasque's gait was as confident as ever, and he strode into this new land with a smile upon his face. Even though the air about him stank and the further he traveled, the more difficult it was to traverse the muddy waters, he remained optimistic and jovial. He had a mission, and he was not about to let some silly wetland stop him. In fact, he assumed this was just the earth testing him to make sure that he was capable of doing what he had been tasked with doing. The elders had requested that he go out into the world and spread their customs.

The Springborn had not yet decided how he would do this, but he certainly would. Hoisting himself up onto a rare dry log, he paused to catch his breath and rest, wondering where this muggy day would take him next.

His walk was confident, even as he traversed the much that was the wetlands. She watched him, trailing him quietly as he heaved himself onto a dry log to rest. Minna hated the dry log, but she had been guarding the borders constantly, as well as journeying for into the lands surrounding Rosing's. She could not let any near the pack with the intention to join, not until they rid themselves completely of the ash brute that had taken their home. She was exhausted, though, and she would simply speak with this male and find out his intentions before heading home.

She approached, ignoring the reek that clung to her lower legs, until she stood a short distance from him. She greeted him with a chuff, deciding to get straight to the point. "What are you intentions in these lands, sir?"

Pasque nearly slipped right off the log when somebody made a noise behind him. He managed to regain his footing just in time to not fall into the stinky pit of muddy mess, and instead carefully repositioned himself to face the speaker. "Why, you're the lucky first one to ask!" he beamed, his tail wagging and flipping specs of mud this way and that.

"The elders of my pack sent me on a mission to spread our customs," Pasque explained. "And I intend to do just that. My name's Pasque Springborn." He fell silent then, passing her the imaginary speaking stick.

Her words seemed to startle him, for he nearly slipped right off the log he was perched upon. But he was quick to regain his footing, seemingly uneager to fall into the murky mess that was the swamp. He faced her with a smile, a sincere one, and a wagging tail. His words caused her to tilt her head slightly in curiosity, and ask of the male, "Customs? What kind of customs?" Was it a religion, a legend, traditions? Minna had no idea, but it interested her.

"Merely the teachings of my pack," he replied, humble as ever. Even though he was meant to spread the word, he knew that gloating about it and being preachy would get him nowhere. His mentor had taught him that much, at least. "We follow the seasons, celebrating each change with joy." There was more to it, of course, but that was the root of their existence. It was completely natural to him, seeing as it was all he had ever known.