Black Morass mauritius

there is pride in the way he speaks, and she drinks it in like a whispered prayer.

no, she agrees, voice quiet but certain. they will not.

her gaze flickers toward him, sharp and dark, before returning to the path ahead. she moves easily beside him, unhurried, feeling the weight of their future settle over them like the thick air of the morass.

they will be made in our image, she muses, something almost reverent in her tone. strong. unshaken. worthy.

her tail brushes against his as they walk. and they will worship you.