Blackfeather Woods praying for the faithless

The ground got wetter and wetter the further he went, until he was sloshing each step and his usually white paws were lined with muck. It was sort of fun to traipse about across the soggy landscape, ducking trees and swerving to avoid thick cords of hanging moss; Mou didn't know that the woods held such a place among their confines but he was glad that they did. Until, of course, the inevitable happened: one wrong step and the soil was just too soft for his weight, and slid out from under him. He staggered as his front limbs splayed forwards while his hind-end remained planted halfway on solid ground, one hind foot sitting squarely on an exposed root. It was quite the sight — and Shisu probably watched his comical display of face-planting from her vantage point nearby, unseen by Mou.