Broken Antler Fen my demeanor tends to disappoint

Olive trees and marble cliffs. Gone. Replaced by marshy soil that squelched under paw and stunk of rotting plant matter. Liora had already panicked. Already the young woman had come to terms with the fact that she was not home. The distant bellowing call of some horrific creature had her shifting uncomfortably on the patch of dry ground she had hunkered down on.

She wasn't home. Zyraena was nowhere in sight. Nothing was familiar. The gods had been displeased lately, their anger settling heavy over her during every prayer. Never though had she expected a punishment as harsh as this. Surely she was dead. No other place could be as miserable as this. The pristine white of her paws had already been tainted, stained brown by the mud that seemed to exist everywhere. 

Liora knew she couldn't stay here indefinitely. She needed a refuge; some place she could live comfortably while she thought up a plan of action. The woman was certain that wherever Zyraena was, she was having a far better time than she. Stepping off her dry patch, she ventured towards the deep mud that surrounded her. Hoping to get to the thick forest beyond where it at least seemed more dry. As if the god wished to spite her further, her paws sunk into the soil below. The more she struggled, the deeper she sunk. Panic gripped her again then, a scream bubbling past her lips as she cursed the earth itself. This was the end. She would die in mud and shit like a commoner. What an end it would be.

the scream caught his attention like a shard of sunlight piercing through mist. sharp, desperate, feminine.

qvasir paused, nostrils flaring as the unfamiliar scent reached him—a scent unlike the damp earth and salt-laden winds of la muerte. it shimmered, delicate yet distinct, as though gilded in some ethereal light. his curiosity, honed by a life of tracking and trade, urged him forward.

his steps quickened as he followed the trail, weaving through the mire with practiced ease. soon, the marsh gave way to a scene that caused his brow to furrow. a pale figure, nearly swallowed by the mud, her pristine coat sullied by the mire that clung to her like a jealous lover.

easy, he called out, his voice steady but laced with intrigue as he approached. the glistening scent matched her—her terror and indignation almost tangible. stop moving. struggling will only take you deeper.

his golden eyes swept over her form, assessing the situation. he stepped closer to the edge of the mud, careful not to overstep and join her in her plight.

hold on. i’ll get you out. his voice softened as he planted his feet firmly and searched for a solid piece of terrain or a vine strong enough to anchor her escape. a glimmer of admiration flickered in his mind, hidden beneath the surface. whoever she was, she carried herself with a fire that even the mud couldn’t smother.

Sides heaving, the woman's lungs failed to get a steadying breath in her state. A voice, masculine and strong reached her ears then. Much like a river cutting though a valley, the man's words made their way to her flattened ears. His warning had Liora stopping, freezing in place lest she get swallowed whole. If she went any deeper the soft fur along her belly would join her legs in the chilled mud. 

While the male stepped towards her, Liora gave him little attention. She was naive in that regard. Expecting a stranger to help her without any payment. It could be blamed on her royal upbringing, but that wouldn't be the full truth. Liora simply expected certain things from life. A stranger helping her was one such expectation. 

Whale-eyed, Liora locked eyes with the man. As gold met blue, she managed to speak around her fear and anger. I didn't know, She explained defensively. Like the man would berate her at any moment for her actions. 

A nearby patch of land seemed to pass the man's inspection, as he braced himself on the sturdy land so close to her entombed body. Liora then followed the man's instruction to help free her. Even as her legs and paws felt suffocated by the heavy silt, she trusted that the man would get her back on solid ground.

The mud sucked at his legs as he edged closer, his golden eyes sharp, tracking her every movement. Her words rang defensive, but Qvasir ignored the tone, focusing instead on her predicament. She was young, soft, and clearly unaccustomed to situations like this. He doubted she'd ever seen true hardship—mud was likely the worst offender she'd faced.

No need to explain, he rumbled, voice calm but firm, Just stay still and listen.

Planting his paws firmly on the patch of solid ground he'd identified, Qvasir leaned low, stretching his neck toward her. The cold muck clung stubbornly to her fur, pulling her deeper with every small motion she made. It would take care and strength to pull her free without making it worse.

Take hold of me, he instructed, angling his shoulder toward her for leverage. Use your weight—slow, steady movements.  I got you.::

Still trembling, Liora did as she was told. A first on many counts. Craning her neck for a better angle, she grasped at the thick fur shrouding the man’s neck. Teeth and fur tangled together until she could feel the warmth of his flesh just out of reach. She didn’t want to hurt him, not after helping her, but would her teeth even puncture the man’s weathered hide? She doubted it. Mumbling an affirmative through a full mouth, Tahoe started the painful process of removing herself. 

Slow, he had said, but each movement felt like Gaia trying to pull her in. She wondered if that had been Zyraena’s fate. Would her sister’s corpse never be found, lost to the silt and clay of the bog? Liora hoped not. If anyone deserves such a death it was certainly not her dear sister. She wanted to give up. It hurt, and her muscles screamed in protest at the exertion they rarely felt. She was tired and alone and the gods had fallen silent. The image of her and Zyraena just yesterday lounging by the pools of their home nearly brought her to tears. Zyraena couldn’t survive without her, she was weak. Too kind and accepting for the world to not abuse. Liora couldn’t give up, for if she did it would guarantee her sister’s demise. 

Heaving a final time, their combined efforts dislodged Liora from the muck. She collapsed into a sad heap at the man’s feet, body trembling with exhaustion. Jaws releasing their hold, she spat out the small clump of hair she had taken with her. Though she loathed to be seen in such a state, Liora whispered a soft thanks without meeting the other’s eyes. 

The gods will shine brightly on you for your help.

Qvasir watched as she collapsed, her trembling frame a stark contrast to the resolute effort she’d just displayed. He remained quiet for a moment, his golden gaze steady as it lingered on her, taking in the weariness that weighed her down.

When she spoke of the gods, his expression flickered—barely. A faint shadow of skepticism crossed his face before his usual composure returned. You don’t owe me thanks, he said simply, his voice low and even, without indulgence or condescension.

He stepped back slightly, giving her space, his gaze briefly sweeping the horizon before returning to her. Rest if you need to, he added after a pause, keeping his tone practical. It wasn’t belief or divine favor that had brought her here, after all—it was effort, hers and his.