Fishblight Mire Shatter myself, I don't care

Mustang, still as much a greenhorn as he had been the year previous at wildlife survivin’, wasn’t the best sniffer of the bunch. But he could certainly try, he supposed, dipping his head to the smaller woman with a sun bright grin.

Its nice ta meetcha, Miss Malila. He quipped, ever cheerful as he wrangled his legs into standing again, peering at the quagmire around their feet.

You havva way you wanna go in particular?