Felltree Marsh Mutilate, Maul, Maim, Mangle

The marsh was beginning to freeze over, making it far easier to pass through and Phobos' trips to the Herbalist's Cache far shorter. Approaching the once wet, mud covered area he lowered his nose to the ground without thinking much of it.

God, it really did smell.

A wrinkle of his nose and the man was on his way through. There was no time to waste if he did not want his mate to worry. He hoped to be home not too long after dark, for he had left at dawn.

His mind was clear, his wounds had faded, today was looking as though it would turn out well - but perhaps he should not speak too soon.