Otatso Wetlands in the end the waves will discolor me.

The more days that go by, the more damage the locusts leave behind. The greenery is wiped from the mountain, down to the stubs in grass, and every surrounding territory that engulfs them. She doesn’t have to keep going from one area to the next to know there isn’t anything green within miles—days—of travel. Without completely uprooting their home, she isn’t sure how the next few months will play out. Sleeping Dragon has always been home to a plethora of rodents, and their activity has increased with the dying locusts they’ve been feasting on. However, a large colony of rats isn’t enough to keep them fed.

She travels down through the maplewood—the beautiful blooms, brightening the territory are gone—and continue south into territories she’s unfamiliar with. They begin to look the same from one spot to the next, nearly unidentifiable from one the last. The ground changes, softer, wetter, and she releases she’d stepped into a former marsh. Now it’s just an open expanse of wet ground. The towering, empty trees leave a haunting feeling, but she’s quickly distracted from the territory as a large bug hit the side of her head. She flicks her ears and shakes her head, feeling a weird sensation crawl beneath her fur. A groan slips by her as she moves further inland. The locusts seemed less dense in the last day or so, but their thinning is far from over. Until then, Thuringwethil anxiously waits to see the extent of the damage and what might be left behind in their wake.

Thuringwethil hears a voice, but the words are unknown to her. She turns to see an agouti-style female, a pained expression on her features. The dark female chuffs, realizes her voice is likely to fall on deafened ears, and she tries a second time, a little louder.