Witch's Marsh You are paying for that snake to be dry-cleaned

He stayed a while in the fox's glade, and then carried on, looking for Bhediya. But her scent trailed into the mountains, and while he was no stranger to cold, he did have a slight aversion to heights, particularly since rocks had seemed slightly. . .well, unstable, lately. Solid ground it was, then.

"Solid" might not be the best descriptor for this place, though. Dark, dank and boggy, he found himself moving through the mire to the dulcet tones of squelch, squelch, squelch with each step. Grimacing in distaste, Pyg looked for somewhere to stand that was dryer, all the while trying to avoid getting sucked further downward. 

Maybe the mountains would have been a better choice. Lovely Bhediya would have made heights worthwhile, and after all, he could just, you know, not look down, ever. Keep focused on her pretty face and pretend he wasn't thousands of feet in the air.

He stopped near a gnarled specimen of a tree, straddling its roots and taking a short rest before carrying on.

It was always exciting to explore a new area, finding new secrets to cherish and spread. Sneheks was a lithe one, wriggling through unfamiliar landscapes with chittering, breathy laughter. She was not sure she had ever encountered a bog before, at least not as mushy as this one.

Heks was leaping through the slop and making a grand mess of herself when her eyes caught the apparation of a stranger in the near distance, struggling to avoid the goop she found so interesting. Already quite short, when she crouched in the pool of watery mess, her body was nearly enveloped. Her head was resting above the water level like a crocodile's, her eyes unblinking as she scurried her way toward him, her paws scratching through the silt beneath her.

"Blech!" came her voice suddenly, a quick and bark-like sound from her place in the bog.

She had stopped moving, her narrowed eyes peeking at him from the marsh like tiny crescent moons; she hoped he had heard her, a strange witch born from the bog. Boo!

Thanks for joining!

Blech!

The exclamation turned his head, and he found a little sprite staring at him in the muck. Her eyes were glowing in the dim light; he found them awfully compelling, and was tempted enough by her spirit to step off the roots and into the worst of the marsh once more.

Bleeecccchhhhh, Pygmalion agreed, drawing out the sound for ultimate emphasis. It's rather gross here, isn't it? His burr was enhanced by the impish smile that stretched his muzzle, the 'r's rolling like thunder. What're you doing in a place like this?

Oh, yes. The evergreen, "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" Except it was slightly different, in this scenario, and Pyg didn't mean anything lascivious by the remark.

:D

He stepped in to join her, echoing her sound with more disgust; her eyes widened momentarily, watching his weight descend into the muck. When he asked a question of her, her large ears cupped forward. Sneheks tilted her head into the marsh.

"Sneeeeeaking," she said with a hiss, her eyes narrowing again, ears flattening to the side. She made a show of effort, circling in her position by keeping just her face above the slop. When she was facing him again, her slick tail was waving on the surface of the marshy pool.

"It is gross," she agreed after her twirl. "What are you doing in this gross place?"

Two gross ghouls.

Aside from a few wayward souls crossing through the marsh, Ibis was left to her own devices. It was pretty boring. Most of her time was spent hunting for signs of Okeanos and worrying over the nothingness she found — she knew she should move on, branch out. Maybe even return to the Lost Creek and pledge herself to her father's pack again, at least until the season's disastrous theme faded and spring arrived. Then again, she did not want to be the victim of a poor social image; if she joined and then left, what would that say about her sense of duty or her worth? The last thing Ibis wanted was to be labelled a flake - well, maybe not the very last thing. She didn't savour the thought of being turned away at their border either. Times were tough, and she couldn't rely on her blood connection to Terance for much longer when all the food was vanishing from the Wilds.

Alas, she had some problems to sort through.

Ibis dallied along the paths that she had come to know; these sections of packed clay, or segments of dry reeds which were firmly rooted between the larger, older trees. It was a bit of an acrobatic route but it kept her mentally engaged as she figured out each step. The cold didn't bother her as much as one might have expected either. She'd grown used to it, and knew not to delve in to the softer areas of the territory, least of all the shallow pools. There wasn't much water along the western edge of the territory but there was just enough to leave her miserable.

As the girl descended along a knobby system of roots (they fell across a dead stump almost like a giant paw with pronounced knuckles) she thought she heard voices. Her heart leapt in to her throat, instantly. Ibis pivoted sharply towards the sound and deftly leveraged herself back down, towards where the sounds came from. She was still a ways away — but she was eager to find whoever it was, thinking chiefly that it could be her lost brother.

Not verra sneaky if ye're making all that noise, Pyg teased, grimacing as he sank down into the muck himself. God, it would take ages to clean up from this! What on earth was he doing here, anyway? I actually have no idea, he replied, laughing, eyes rolled skyward. I'm beginning to regret it.

If it had been a place with less smells to deal with, he might have scented the other girl's approach. As it was, he was wholly focused on the sneaky lady before him, a slight figure within the mud.

As for Pygmalion, he was about chest-deep in the stuff; he lifted his chin to survey her with a curious expression. Ye got a name? he asked, thinking of Bhediya and her non-moniker. Noniker. Heh. He'd have to save that for the next time he saw her.

Her large ears twitched as he spoke, eyes flicking around him when he called her out on not being sneaky. But, it looked sneaky, right!? She grinned when he admitted he was beginning to regret entering the muddy water.

"It is fun, a little bit," she decided to add. "Sometimes you have to take a break." Even if it left you awfully dirty.

When he lifted his chin, she tried to do the same, but her legs were a little too short to keep her any meaningful height above the mud. She looked like a sinking ship with her chin held high into the air.

"Sneheks," she answered thruthfully, her teeth showing in a large grin. "Heks is fine, though. You?" Her head was twisting in an attempt to see him at the odd angle she struggled to keep her head at.

When she was finally near enough to catch the voices on the wind she was immediately saddened that they were not familiar; this was a brief moment of knowing, of processing, reacting... And then Ibis continued to prance her way through the soggy reeds and mud, intent to complete what she had begun even if her brother wasn't present. At the very least it sounded like two beings trying to cross the marsh; she could tell them of the dryer routes if it helped, ever eager to lend aid to strangers.

When Ibis emerges from the copse of forest she spies a spindly thing of mixed complexion - thinking the narrowly built creature is having a conversation with a floating pile of snow initially, Ibis does not move to intercept the pale shape and seems focused on the other. But when she is exposed upon a raised segment of roots and raised loam she does make the connection.

Hello! She calls out in mild surprise when she notices that the snow pile has eyes; the wolf is half-slicked with mud which accounts for her poor judgement. Ibis looks from pale wolf to autumnal wolf, then back, not sure how to proceed in that awkward span of time, and says, If you're sick of the mud I know a dry route for crossing the marsh, if you'd like?

Heks it is, then, he teased, trying—and failing—to grasp the slippery full name on his tongue. I'm Pygmalion, but Pyg for short works. He was about to inquire where the sneaky girl had come from when another girl came across them, face alight in a greeting. Young, with a pair of enchanting eyes. He twisted his neck to fully face her, ears cupping forward in intrigue at her offer.

Canna think why I'd turn you doon, Pygmalion replied, laughing. He turned to the sneaky Sneheks, his expression one of query. What d'ye think? Should we take her up on it and get oot this mud?

Not that he didn't enjoy the slender woman's company. He just, you know, wasn't all too fond of wallowing in the mud, especially cold mud.