Otatso Wetlands age of aquarius

@Aoife @Dawn

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Once again, the angukkuq found himself stuck in another morass — irrigated from the marsh further to the south, he had learned through his explorations. Further than that, there was a reservoir of spring meltwater that coalesced between parallel peaks, but such freshness was [of course] claimed by a pack of wolves. Komodo was a man not long for a pack, so he rounded back and that’s where he found himself at that moment: tangled amongst the skein of low lying trees and brush that flourish amongst such sodden ground, looking for any botanica that carried spiritual weight.

The mottled brute had no cache to store his yield, but this was a nonissue for him — the vagrant never had a cache for his herbs and instead elected to forage and employ his trinkets same day. Not only did this make for pristine and unprocessed supplies [which greatly appeased the spirits he communed with] but if Komodo came across something that truly struck his fancy, he tucked it away in the fawnskin pouch that hung round his neck. It was of his own making and he labored for weeks drying the skins, boring holes and loosely tying it together with dried sinew. The entire process had tantalized his mechanical nature and his proud handywork was well-used.

Komodo picked across the wetlands and scanned his surroundings for any this that caught his discerning, molten eye — specifically the labrador bush, to fend off these relentless, billowing clouds of springtide mosquitos.

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