The Floodlands Jackpot

he wandered.

it always came in quicker than he thought, but this time it was with a purpose. he slogged through the hinterlands in search of herbs, of traces of things and places to bring back home. only to discover how seemingly empty the hinterlands were beyond the reach of the saints.

in a way, this was good. easier to take things from wherever he pleased.

as he slogged through the marsh, his coat had lost some of its paleness. much more a splattering of a muddy canvas. markings far less prominent with his whole coat adapting such a dark, muck coloring. although he was not the only one who suffered this type of thing.

a moving oil spill up ahead, taken the form of a wolf. he could tell nothing more of them. too drowned by the bog, the rich earth ripe around them.

he hated being the first to speak but it felt vital here.

h-hey, he called out weakly. have you...seen anything that isn't just marsh grass?