Black Morass a little more falls apart

There was no sound. No chirp, no croak, not even the trill of the bugs which were always singing to the sun. Mortar did not know what to make of this strange emptiness because he had never faced it before. The world was always loud, always vigorous with life, except something had changed while he was asleep - he didn't like it. The beast was oblivious to the cause (and truly not thoughtful enough to explore the possibilities himself); so he went on with his day.

The usual routine was easy to follow. He had pulled himself from his slumber and trudged in to the valley and away from his mountain home.

By midday he was up to his shoulders in the mire. The familiar dampness helped to cool his dark body, as the sun had baked him, and his slow but sure pace had worn him out. His hunger was great, so Mortar headed with certainty through the morass in search of anything that could fill the pit of his stomach and with the absence of anything small to chase down (which he was far too lazy to do anyway) he sought his favorite berry patch.

Except when he finally pulled himself from the mud and wedged himself through the narrow passage between the trees and found himself dead-center in this patch, he surveyed it, and saw that it was barren. The befuddled expression on his massive head spoke for itself.