The Heartwood Will you tear my skin?

Dreven chest was tight and constricted the further he went in, but if there was one thing of many things, that could be said for the beast of brown. It was simply this. Fortifying. Strong. Hardy. Stubborn. The water burned. Fire in his red eyes.

Loud sucking breath as his head breaks the surface. Red eyes closed for just a minute. They open to meet the gaze of Malacath and he smirks. Slowly, achingly he pulled himself from the rim. Didn't wish to fall back in. Stepped paw steps away from his leader. Brown pelt stuck to every crevice and dip. He shook. Water dripped. Dripped to the ground. Large head bent down to lick at some of the fur that peppered his paws, uncomfortable between his toes of wet and dirt. Long flexing moment. Then he lifted his head. Finally. And looks around.

Dreven moved forward a ways and dips black nose down to soggy soil. Deep. Dark. Wet. Soil. He looked beyond the area and a frown marred his jawline.

Probably bugs and fungus that glow. We had it in the pits.

He wasn't sure if that was the blue light, but he wouldn't be surprised. He had found that if something wanted to survive, it did. There was no light in the pits. So the creatures that had lived there. Made their own. Even wolves after years and years of being down there, began to grow paler and brighter. He himself had been one of the lucky ones, only shoved to the pit as a young buck, when he displeased.