Broken Antler Fen it's a sunny and relaxing holiday

Mumble catches up to them— he's covered in mud and it's beginning to dry, leaving his hair in quirky spikes. She raises an eyebrow. Going all punk, I see. Midlife crisis? She would punch his shoulder affectionately if she could.
An ear flicks back at Smudge's whinging. She couldn't help but inwardly agree though. They'd be trudging across at a snail's pace for miles and miles now and still there was no destination in sight.
Not that they could ask Mumble and get a clear-cut answer. Not that they would know what to do with the information if they'd got an answer anyway. She was enamoured with the camping lifestyle at first. It was pretty romantic, not knowing where you would be from one day to the next, but it was starting to grate on her. Instincts.