Otatso Wetlands tragic eyes I can't recognize myself behind

He eyed the boy—Faelan—as he sought to situate himself. To him, Faelan looked like a mouse caught in a glue trap. On top of being caked head to toe in mud, today's chilly forecast wouldn't do him any favors. At least he didn't seem completely miserable.

Tahoe. He replied, offering his own name, watching Faelan draw nearer.

The adrenaline which coursed through his veins seemed to clear his head from his previously, utterly befuddled state. Unbeknownst to the yearling, he began concocting a lie or two to explain why he himself had ended up here in the swamp as well. Anything would be better than admitting he had some sort of somnambulistic episode, like some feeble-minded geriatric.

Faelan, He continued, beginning to trek forward. Where are you headin'?