Fishblight Mire i told the devil to take you back

“Ugh,” she grumbled once she found herself upon on a marsh. The ground was getting softer and moist, water squishing between her toes, and while it didn’t necessarily feel unpleasant, the smell the wetland gave off is enough to make her want to wretch. Her nose wrinkled and she shook her head with the new irritation, considering backpedaling and going the opposite direction but it would defeat the purpose of the progress she made. She glanced toward her left, then right, and neither way gave her any more information than she’d previously had. 

As if a coin flipped in her head, Orca began her trek left. Going through the marsh might cut the distance but drenching herself in the stench is the last thing she had on her to-do list that day. She attempted to find ground a little dryer, a little more stable, but with the marsh remaining on her right to determine when she manages to cross the entire thing.

A sound caught her attention and she jerked, head swinging to the right, ears alert upon her head. A few steps in led her further into the marsh than she’d originally wanted, paws fighting the suction of mud that makes each step more difficult than the last. She picked up her right front foot as a glob of mud hit the ground. 

“Gross,” she mumbled, shaking her paw to fling more mud every which way, distracted from the sound a moment later until it happens a second time. She jumped to attention, craning her neck forward as the blub blub blub continued a little longer. Whether it was because she was closer this time than the first, Ocra found herself getting closer and more enveloped by the dark overhang of trees.

If he was going to get dirty, he was going to get dirty. Yes, the mire smelled enough to make his whiskers curl, but after a while he became desensitized even to that. But a little mud wouldn't hurt him, so long as he was careful not to get too bogged down. Sriracha was a clever man, and kept to the mire's highest and dryest patches of land when he could. And when he couldn't, he wasn't afraid to get dirty. Rather than try and drag his legs through the mud, he hopped along. It meant that each time he sank deep into the mud.

After nearly an hour in the mire, Sriracha was coated in mud. From the bottom of his chin to the tops of his legs. He never let it get over his head or his back, but it came up along his ribs and stuck thick to his stomach. This was no matter. A nice, long soak in a stream or a lake or a river would clean him up. 

The mire seemed to go on forever, as most trying times did. Time and space narrowed to the distance from one dry(er) patch to the next, slowing to a crawl as he slogged through thick, stinking mud. Only the woman's voice caught his attention, and had she remained silent, he would have passed her by. Ears twitching, his eyes searched the mire until he found her, a creature draped in grey and brown. For a moment he only watched, wondering if this was an advanced fuego fatuo. Then, seeing the woman delve only deeper into the dark, he shouted, hey there! Señorita! Señora! Hey! What are you doing?

Shaking the mud from her paws did little as each next step only covered them again.  Cleaning them up later wasn’t going to be any fun once she’s freed herself and she cursed the curiosity to find out what the sound had been. The small body of water rippled the closer she got and she heard the blub get even louder but soon something else drowned it out and she picked her head up quickly. Orca spun around as gracefully as she could to see another wolf shouting at her, covered in more mud than she’d allowed for herself and her own olive eyes widen in surprise.

“I heard something weird,” she confessed with a shrug of her shoulder, one paw hung over the mud as if she really didn’t want to put it back down. She’d much rather learn how to fly and get herself out of there before covering herself even more. “Shoulda left it alone. What… what are you doing?”

If she was a fuego fatuo then she was unlike any he had ever seen or heard of before. It was way more likely that she was just another lost wolf that got bogged down by the mire, just like him. When she replied, he decided that she was a victim of the mire, which had decided to lure her into its depths. So he had saved her! He had broken the spell and rescued her from the mire's nefarious purposes. Sí, he agreed. Strange noises were to be left alone. This place is cursed, if you ask me. Then what was his purpose here? She asked as much, and here he floundered.

Swelling his chest with (false) bravado, he answered, lying through his teeth. I have come to challenge este fango. I will traverse it without falling captive to its many tricks. Come! Join me! We will brave el fango together and come out laughing! To demonstrate he laughed. He laughed as though the very action of laughing was an insult to the mire.

Running into another makes her regret the attempt she’d made, sucked into the mire and it would be just as difficult to get out as it was to have gotten where she was now. Cursed. Probably. They’re bound to find a corpse or two before their own is sucked into the marsh forever. Maybe with the help of another, she can get her way back out a little easier than if she’d been alone. However, when he began to speak again, Ocra wasn’t so sure he’s capable to offer much help.

“Are you okay?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head. “How long have you been in here?” Clearly, he was losing it.

The air was heavy with weary malaise, but Sriracha would not be cowed. It was already working its wiles on the olive-eyed woman, who definitely needed to be saved, and purpose would keep him from getting waylaid. I'm fine, señorita, he answered. I'm not going to let this glorified mud hole bring me down. Neither should you. Get over here, where it isn't so deep, Sriracha urged. If she came with him they could both look out for better paths to take. They could continue traveling in the same direction and, together, emerge safetly on the other side. To answer her second question, he merely shrugged. Yo no se. A few hours, but long enough that I want to get out of here, he told her.

His answer made him seem a little less crazy and Ocra relaxed a fraction, shifting her weight away from the water and angled toward her new companion. He proved he at least knew a little bit about the more, more than she did, and so she took a few steps in a new direction and found he’d been accurate. The ground solidified beneath her and she doesn’t feel like the world was going to slip out from beneath her and she’d be eating mud for dinner.

“Too long,” she groaned, thankful that she wasn’t slipping and sliding around. “I just want out of here,” she told him, thought she doubted she needed to. He was covered for more than she was, seemingly mentally scarred from his time within the depths of the mire, and Ocra doesn’t want to see herself take on the same amount of crazy. “I’m Ocra, by the way,” she introduced with a wag of her tail, which was still weighed down by a hunk of mud.

She scrambled up onto his bit of dry land, a bit that he was perfectly willing to share with the needy. She was not so covered in mud as he was, but she had already exhibited a greater dislike for it. Sriracha didn't mind the mud, since it would wash off. The woman expressed a desire to leave, one that Sriracha shared, and he nodded, determined. Just follow me, Ocra. We'll get out of here together, he assured her. Ocra's a weird name, by the way. Is it short for something? Oh, the name's Sriracha, by the way. Trusting that she would follow, he began to move again.

Again they moved from dry patch to dry patch, slogging through the muck in between. So. Ocra. Who are you. And I don't mean like, oh, who are you? Oh, I'm Ocra and I'm from a place. I'm talking the real stuff. Who are you? I'll do you the favor in return. Hell, I'll go first if you want. He wanted to cut the small talk. He still wasn't sure why he was in these wilds, but he would find out.

He began to move and Ocra followed in line behind him, trying to mimic the same steps he left behind. He spoke her name again and his words made her nose wrinkle while he analyzed her name. “Uh, yeah. Short for Ocracoke.” Ocra doesn't think much of it beyond that, deciding once to focus on the task at hand so she didn’t trip herself up and land in the muck. The last thing she wanted was to be picking it from her teeth. 

When he spoke again, repeating her name two more times, that she almost missed the entire question. She blinked a few times, hesitating her next step to instead consider what she’d been asked as she tried to backtrack his voice. 

“Well, I don’t really know who I am,” she said, surprised it had been so easy. It all had been part of what she was on her own to begin with, right? Embarking on a new adventure, figuring herself out. At least that’s what she would tell herself when the threat of worry invades her thoughts. A lump formed within her throat that she strained to get rid of, trying to mask the pained expression for another step in the mud and not the weight of guilt holding her down. “I mean, I know that I’m Ocra and deer is my favorite meal and opossums are kinda cute but, like, that’s all.”

Sriracha considered her full name for a moment. Ocracoke? What kind of name was that? Certainly nothing as distinguished as Sriracha. He was named for... for something, obviously. And it was probably really distinguished, a name filled with history. Still, he wasn't going to go so far as to poke fun at her name. No more than he had, at least. Ocracoke. Well, encantado.

Now that she was trusting him to see them through, Sriracha was even more diligent about his path. Ears perked and eyes peeled, he picked only the best path for them to traverse. He even took into account her apparent aversion to getting too dirty. 

Ocra admitted to not know much of an answer to his question. To Sriracha, this seemed to be a perfect answer. I don't know is always an acceptable answer to just about any question, Ocracoke. Don't ever let nobody tell you otherwise, he assured her. He had a lot of big ideas, and he was happy to share them with little prompting.

She gave him small details, and that was enough to get him going. These are all things about you. Important things. They're part of a whole, and that whole is you. Nobody has all the answers, si? Si. We are ever changing. Every day we find out a little bit more about who we are. I am excited to learn who you are and who you become. He paused, taking a breath, because he hadn't inhaled at all as he spoke. We should become partners, he declared. Travel buddies. Partners in crime. It had been a while since he'd had a partner. Not since he and his sisters had disbanded.

He put an ease to her wonderment, though how they’d gotten there in the first place was a little confusing. The comfort he offered had momentarily replaced the weird unease she felt when she’d first met him a few moments ago. His “crazy” had been an over exaggeration of their situation and it had turned into a mutual working together to get it out. Sriracha was definitely charismatic, Ocra would give him that, and it was a nice change from the monotony life of a lone wolf she’d experienced since she’d left a few short weeks prior. 

The proposal caught her attention and her ears went forward, uncertain what to make of it. The life of a loner was still so new to her that she wasn’t sure if things like that happened often. He seemed far more seasoned than she, and friendly to boot, that his charm was hard to not be impressed by.

“Do you ask everyone you meet to be a criminal?” she asked with a laugh to follow, her tail wagged hard a few times—so much that the clunk of mud flung off in one direction—and she didn’t allow herself to slow down and back away like she might be worried he was an undercover murder. “Who are you?”

Criminals? Never! he said, quick to come to his own defense. Well, yes. Criminals to the laws of the haves, heros to the have-nots. We can stand up for the little guy, just you and me, Ocracoke. It wouldn't be like it had been with his sisters. They had been too young and their enemy to great. They got in over their heads. Now Sriracha knew moderation. He knew what he could handle.

The vibrant motion of her tail flung a errant chunks of mud flying every which way, causing Sriracha into a paroxysm of laughter. Look at it go! That one was a flyer, he snorted. Cleverly, she turned his question around to him. I don't know! he exclaimed, beaming. And isn't that wonderful? Once I might have thought to have known the answer, but now I know that the the fun is in not knowing. We've gotta find out, he said, a few grammatical errors slipping by in his enthusiasm. Also they're still walking lmao

The more Sriracha spoke, the crazier he sounded. He seemed aware of everything but the excitement he had made he wonder if he'd gotten into a poppy plant or if he was simply this energetic all the time. He was certainly interesting, as if he was already planning shenanigans for them to get into, and she felt a hook sink into her. Whether or not he was crazy would be determined and Ocra knew she wanted to find out and see. 

Of course, what she really wanted was a bath but she didn't speak her complaint anymore when her expression was plenty enough. 

"Where are you from?" she decided to ask then. His accent was different, though she thought she remembered hearing it before but she couldn't say for certain.

He trudged bravely onward and rejoiced at the realization that, ever so gradually, the landscape was changing. The water was clearing, the land was drying up. Even the air smelled sweeter, cleaner. Hey, I think we're almost out of here. Maybe, he said, grinning in excitement. Man, I want nothing more than a good soak right now. Sriracha sighed, already imagining the feel of cool water on his skin, the mud washing away in a gentle current.

Again it was time to talk about himself, and more specifically, his home. He had fought for his home, and loved it dearly, though that had not stopped him from leaving. I am from the south. Far, far south, where deserts and scrublands are all you can see, he explained with reverence. Then, quite suddenly, he wanted to know what kind of home had produced a wolf like Ocra. Y tu? What about you?

Sriracha announced that the end was near and Ocra felt a wave of relief sweep over her. She put trust in his words before she saw herself and when she picked her head up, she could see a burst of brighter green and blue just ahead. She made a mental note to never return to this place once she’d gotten far, far away from it. If it weren’t so wet and muddy, she would wish a fiery death upon the land but knew that fire wouldn’t last long in such a place.

“South of here too but… not as far as you’ve come from,” she explained once he turned the question back to her. She didn’t know how far south she would have to go before she found the lands he mentioned and perhaps she didn’t want to. It sounded hot. 

Ocra fell silent then, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other so that she may not trip. Not being known for her grace, she knew it was likely to happen and was surprised it hadn’t yet. Focusing on Sriracha’s steps and where to put her own feet likely helped and once they were close enough to feel solid ground beneath her feet, she couldn’t move fast enough to get out into the open. She sucked in a long breath and held it, releasing it slowly to shed the stink from her nostrils.

“Oh, thank god.”

Ocra's relief at finally reaching the end of this accursed mire was palpable and shared. From now on this day would stand as an entire chapter in his life. It was a milestone. There was BM (before mire, but also bowel movement, which is what the mire was like) and AM (after mire). He felt years older. He felt that he and Ocra had shared some bonding epxerience, like two complete strangers that get stuck in an elevator together. He noted her response, but only replied with a grunt. He, too, was focused on his steps.

The ground grew solid, less damp, and less stinky. Soon, Sriracha was confident in saying, I think the worst might be behind us. And indeed it was, for now they were on solid ground. The air was clean and clear. Sriracha whooped, extatic at this change in fortune, and barreled ahead with her. We're free, Ocracoke!

Ocra didn't pay attention to anything Sriracha might have said in the final moments of the more. She only focused on one foot in front of the other until she was free and she managed to catch the exclamation by her companion. Her head snapped up to see an open sky and fresh air and she looked toward him for a long moment to register who she really had been dealing with the entire time. The swamp was far more darkening than she thought so his features amplified in the bright sun and he was easily stuck into her memory. 

She stretched out her limbs in relief and braced herself
for the shake, flinging whatever mud had attached to her and lightening the load she'd been carrying. If only a fresh water pond or lake had been nearby for both of them to wash but she knew so little of the area that her ideas came to a standstill. Plus she was sure he needed to move along to wherever he'd been going in the first place.

PP w/dearest mica's permission

In the full sun, the true extent of how filthy they were came to light. Where normally Sriracha's coat burned a bright copper, the mud had dulled and darkened it. Against his mask his eyes were brilliant, shining like gold in the sunlight. He shook himself as Ocra did, flinging mud every which way. He felt much better afterwards, and turned to her with a brilliant grin.

Ocracoke! he exclaimed. I didn't see it earlier, but you're beautiful! Sriracha did another little shake, loosening some mud dingleberries clinging to his underside. And you're brave, too. You were a good choice, compañera. I have an idea. We should split up and learn the lay of the land. It was only smart to know what they were walking into. In the distance he saw a ragged line of mountains. With his nose, he indicated the very last one. Shall we meet up there in a few days? Seems like a good rendezvous point to me.

Ocra agreed and then they both split that popsickle stand. Hell yeah.