Witch's Marsh You are paying for that snake to be dry-cleaned

Heks it is, then, he teased, trying—and failing—to grasp the slippery full name on his tongue. I'm Pygmalion, but Pyg for short works. He was about to inquire where the sneaky girl had come from when another girl came across them, face alight in a greeting. Young, with a pair of enchanting eyes. He twisted his neck to fully face her, ears cupping forward in intrigue at her offer.

Canna think why I'd turn you doon, Pygmalion replied, laughing. He turned to the sneaky Sneheks, his expression one of query. What d'ye think? Should we take her up on it and get oot this mud?

Not that he didn't enjoy the slender woman's company. He just, you know, wasn't all too fond of wallowing in the mud, especially cold mud.