Witch's Marsh Ascend

an awful storm forced qiao inland. the to’lang spoke fervently of water; the spirits babbled madly in her ears. 

the scent of blood between petrichor and thick blood drew qiao. a still form rested around disturbed silt and rotting matter; her fur matted by heavy birth-blood. 

a child stirred somewhere within the creature’s chest and folded arms. qiao glanced around her, wary. 

the lifeblood of a child would be fantastic bloodprice to the overworld — but surely, other eyes watched the felled mother and her lost lamb.