The Floodlands feel like i don't even know me

This took me ages and it's kind of shitty but I didn't want to make ya wait <33

Droplets fell from overhead, beating softly against the skull of the inky brute. His thick pelt was coated in water, clinging to his form. From his elbows down, the silver-ribbed wolf was plagued by heavy silt that seemed to stick incessantly to his limbs. Skellige was afflicted by the current condition of the land in a sense that his muscles felt weary from trudging through the muck and filth, and his stomach was barren from lack of prey. So filled with his grievances, the dark titan could feel his throat choking him and his limbs quiver. Holding a stationary position, the black mass of sodden fur and sinew leered callously to his surroundings and heaved a haggard sigh. The sooner he found himself beside the sands and waves, the sooner he would feel like the Cairn that he had crafted himself to be. These wetlands and muggy marshes would do him no good; his only option would be to find his way out. But the dreary terrain seemed to stretch on before him for ages, and Skellige did not know that he would be able to see an end.
 
Taking another slopping step forward, the ferine creature’s ears flattened to his skull at the sound of the sucking noise emitted from the earth as he drew his limb from the depths. And before he had a chance to cull another from the muck, his attention was drawn by a far spindlier creature making his way just ahead of the dark Cairn, and off to the right. Already, his poor nature and the persistent weather had forced the lurid beast into a mindset that tugged on the ache in his gut and the hot desire to feed his empty insides. Dark auburn eyes locked savagely with the hybrid; a coywolf, Skellige noted. The stranger seemed to be leaner in body than the wraith, but he moved with a persistence that was mildly admirable. Had it not been for the barbarous nature of the argent-ribbed titan, he would have called out to the other wolf. Far from the water, Skellige was out of his nature in this environment. Even so, the dark beast sucked his leg from the nasty earth and attempted to pick his pace up, hoping to draw himself closer to this stranger in the marsh.
 
After a time of trudging, the inky brute noted that the ground was beginning to toughen beneath his paws, and the lugging of his lengthy limbs was not so intolerable. Keeping his chestnut gaze locked on the stranger ahead of him, Skellige watched as the wolf became more focused and precise in his movements. A hunting posture, the swarthy Cairn observed silently. When the coywolf managed to land his catch, Skellige had found solid ground beneath his feet and he felt his heart surge. Free from the muck of the marshes, he could navigate himself out of the detrimental wasteland.
 
But he too was hungry.
 
Skellige’s deep mahogany gaze had not yet left the body of the coywolf male. His breathing was steadying and his body no longer seemed to quiver as he lifted his legs to carry him onward. With a quick breath of air, the dark titan lifted his legs and quickened his pace so that he was carried forward at a steady trot. He knew that if he were to travel to the sea, he would need more strength than his bones carried. Prey was scarce, and he was much larger than this coywolf he had come across. With a cold expression on his soot-colored face, Skellige closed the distance between himself and the stranger. The fur along his neck and spine stood rigid. His muscles swayed beneath his shadowy pelt. Hungry eyes were locked on the small prey animal at the coywolf’s paws.