Fox's Glade i’m going to break something

their little party forged on ahead, looking as sad as condor had ever seen it. and he had seen it very sad in very many different ways.

buzzard loved to claim their age privilege. condor had never quite seen the point – a handful of minutes only – but who was he to discourage the little rivalry they’d built up with vulture? the downside of escaping from your family was that there were precious few sources of entertainment, unless someone had the misfortune to trip.

ah, at least it seemed more likely by the moment. everything in this place was just so thoroughly disgusting. mud and rain everywhere, none of that nice dry desert sand. his fur would need so much cleaning once they were done.

tragically, buzzard was beginning to resemble a wet rat. they already didn’t bathe, so perhaps all the rain was a blessing in disguise; for now, alas, it only made them look like they’d just been pulled from a river a second before drowning altogether. unfortunately for them, it wasn’t so much a change from their usual fashion.

less tragically, vulture was already caked in mud. perils of having a light coat, condor suspected. and she looked, unsurprisingly, absolutely miserable about the whole affair; condor bestowed upon her a winning smile as she dragged herself through the muck with the most ridiculous high steps.

“you’re going to want to clean yourself up first. though i suppose swamp monster might be exactly to the taste of the people here.” with an exaggerated shudder, condor went to nudge his shoulder into buzzard’s flank and then, at the last second, thought better of it. “think of it as an opportunity, darling. won’t it be so much easier to find food when it’s all drowned?”