Cricket Creek Bog amgylchynu

Stepping into the bog is much like traveling between enemy lines. Where the scents were once scarce, now there are many, and on all sides. She takes care not to traipse accidentally across a border and set off diplomatic chaos that could lead to her demise. God knows how these wolves feel about Mynydd. She will be lucky if they have never heard of it at all.

The quiet croaking of frogs accompanies her journey here. It is a strange combination of eerie and peaceful. While Seren does not favor it, it is a refreshing change from forest after forest; she does appreciate some diversity in scenery.

The frogs, though, remind her of Llewellyn. They used to catch them, as children. Well, Seren caught them; Llewellyn only tried. He might be her better in every other skill set, but he never was able to topple her in the art of frog-catching. She always did, and always would, reign supreme in that arena.

She laughs aloud, thinking of it, and knows that any who watch from the shadows must think her crazy, or at the very least, daft. As long as it draws attention to her and her queries, she is fine with any misconceptions, so long as they do not turn violent.