Fishblight Mire i told the devil to take you back

“Ugh,” she grumbled once she found herself upon on a marsh. The ground was getting softer and moist, water squishing between her toes, and while it didn’t necessarily feel unpleasant, the smell the wetland gave off is enough to make her want to wretch. Her nose wrinkled and she shook her head with the new irritation, considering backpedaling and going the opposite direction but it would defeat the purpose of the progress she made. She glanced toward her left, then right, and neither way gave her any more information than she’d previously had. 

As if a coin flipped in her head, Orca began her trek left. Going through the marsh might cut the distance but drenching herself in the stench is the last thing she had on her to-do list that day. She attempted to find ground a little dryer, a little more stable, but with the marsh remaining on her right to determine when she manages to cross the entire thing.

A sound caught her attention and she jerked, head swinging to the right, ears alert upon her head. A few steps in led her further into the marsh than she’d originally wanted, paws fighting the suction of mud that makes each step more difficult than the last. She picked up her right front foot as a glob of mud hit the ground. 

“Gross,” she mumbled, shaking her paw to fling more mud every which way, distracted from the sound a moment later until it happens a second time. She jumped to attention, craning her neck forward as the blub blub blub continued a little longer. Whether it was because she was closer this time than the first, Ocra found herself getting closer and more enveloped by the dark overhang of trees.