Blackfeather Woods praying for the faithless

After some rear-end wiggling and some rooster-stepping he finally got enough stability beneath his hindquarters to squeltch himself out of the muck. His usually white face was layered with slimy mud, capping him with a foul layer of brown up to his ears and dribbling down his chin to whre the moor had caught his chest. One he was free he shook off as best he could, but found that doing that was dangerous with the soil so loose underfoot; it wasn't until he turned towards his bad side that he saw Shisu and identified the worry on her face.

She startled him; he staggered sideways but didn't go down again, thankfully. After spitting some grime from between his teeth Mou tried to scamper back from whence he came, following the path he'd cleaved in the soil, and roosted himself on an exposed knuckle of tree roots. He looked utterly pathetic — and that, at least, was pretty typical of him. Shivering from the October air drying the mud and trembling from the scare it had caused; he could've drowned in the mud, and that would've been an awful way to go.