Felltree Marsh Don't Be a Stick in The Mud!

Every placed paw was a gamble. He'd either sink knee deep, step on a thorn, or find solid ground. If they did sink in, the scent that arose from the hole left was putrid, like decay and shit. He didn't care for wetlands. Didn't like the bugs, the humidity, constantly feeling his coat heavy and wet. It was too dirty, even for him. He preferred dry, dusty places. 

He'd finished pissing, falling behind some because he'd really rather not expose Leto to that, then trotted forward, catching up to her a few moments later. 

"Place reeks. And I saw a spider 'bout the size of my paw back there."

His coat flinched, about three mosquitos flew off of it. 

"You sure this ain't yer home? Suits ya."