Twisted Slough the ground beneath us is shaking, the sheep are finally waking

They were both fascinated by the ocean, Masquerade perhaps morbidly so. She wouldn’t say she enjoyed the seaside, necessarily, but watching @Riley discover it distracted her from her thoughts and brought her a measure of delight in these trying times. When they found themselves passing by a bay, she even splashed with him in the surf briefly, smiling for the first time in many days.

From there, they wandered into a forest that showed signs of a fire many years ago, just like the rise. It put a lump in Masque’s throat. A plateau rose up to block their path along the coastline, so she hastened inland. She led her mate through a thick forest that slowly morphed into something significantly less scenic. She thought of the marsh neighboring the rise.

Suddenly, Masquerade’s forelegs sank several inches into some sort of quagmire. If she’d thought the ocean kind of stank, it didn’t compare to the odor that belched out of this squidgy patch of ground. Masque retched.

They'd only been by the ocean a short time, but it was still all novelty to Riley. He noticed Masque's mood seemed to briefly improve; maybe all of this discovery was good from them, by keeping thoughts of hunger and worry at bay.

They did not stay long in one area. Riley took comfort in Masque paving the way: they explored an old forest, with marks of flame darkening some of the boughs. The way grew gradually more wet - until at last they were standing on topography that Riley could best call swamp.

A disgusting smell fouled the area. As a wolf, Riley was acquainted with all manner of putrid scents, but this one curled his stomach. Besides him, Masque wretched -- it was all he could do keep ownership over the contents of his own stomach.

Eugh. He wiped at his nose before sampling in a new draught of air. The scent was rather pervasive when he looked to the left. He stepped alongside Masque, sniffing again. What is that?

Single post cameo to get her started!

The wolves balked at the stench, but Zero basked in it.

She had been there for some time, feeding intermittently on a twisted creature half-buried in the cold mud and chasing away the carrion birds that tried their luck. So what if the meat was a bit rancid and slimy? Meat was meat and Zero was alone. She could not afford to be selective about a meal, especially when she was fortunate enough to find something as sizable as this. It could easily feed her for a couple days!

Luck was not on her side for long, however. While the wind blew away from her and she could not smell them, she could hear the voices of other canines coming closer. Slower and more guttural than her high coyote voice, so she had to guess they were wolves, or maybe smelly dogs, or some kind of crossbreed freak, the worst of the worst. She pinned her tall ears forward and stared across the corpse in the direction they were coming from, gulping down as much rotting meat as she could manage.

The second they came into sight, the little silver coyote snatched a final mouthful and bolted the opposite direction. She could brawl with ravens and raptors over a meal, but she could not win against larger dogs, nor would she give them the chance to try and catch her. Off she went, none the wiser to the origin of her meal.

To punish her gluttony, her belly would revolt something awful later tonight.

As soon as her heaving stomach allowed, she wrenched herself free from the putrid muck. She heard Riley mutter somewhere behind her but neither looked at him nor attempted to answer his question. Instead, Masquerade cast her eyes about for some way to wipe the sludge off her forelegs.

She saw what looked like solider ground scattered with leaves and made a bid for it, treading carefully lest she walk into another fetid morass. As soon as she was certain the ground wasn’t about to give away, she bent down and began wiping her forelegs. Only, instead of the muck coming off, it only acted like glue, covering her legs in dead leaves and other detritus.

Sighing, she stood up again. A flash of movement caught her eye, though Masque didn’t register the fleeing coyote. She did spot a log and started toward it, mistakenly attributing the smell of decay to her surroundings in general. But when she came within a yard of it, there was no mistaking the canine features, despite the clear evidence of scavengers having picked over the carcass. It was not a dead tree, it was a dead wolf.

She recoiled a few steps, more startled than horrified, at least until she realized she recognized the scent underneath the overwhelming odor of decomposition. Ashlar? Masque thought, face contorting in dismayed disbelief.

Riley had first been preoccupied with Masque -- until a dart of silver stole across his periphery.

He had just enough time to register coyote before Masque made a bid for his attention again, this time clambering on solid ground to fruitlessly wipe the dirt from her legs. There was no coming off, he decided -- and was about to make a joke about going back to the ocean when he saw her face change.

Stricken was the word he'd use; she was looking at something, then recoiling. Riley instantly closed the gap, forgetting entirely about the coyote. There in front of them both was something dark and misshapen - he attributed it to a body immediately, but the pervasive scent surrounding him told him it was something more.

Is that -- He stopped, glancing back to Masque in shared horror. As a wolf, one got used to seeing bodies -- but seeing a friend putrefy in the dirt was something different.

No, it couldn’t be Ashlar! Why would he be so far from home? Even as the question flashed through her mind, her stomach knotted. She forced herself to look down at what was left of him. Masque swallowed around the lump in her throat and even bent to sniff delicately. Her eyes slipped shut and her head hung as she confirmed his identity.

As she lapsed into a moment of mournful silence, she couldn’t help but marvel: if she and Riley hadn’t left, would anyone have ever known Ashlar’s fate? Masque’s heart skipped a beat. Perhaps this was a sign to go home and tell them about the healer. But then it sank as she wondered if anyone else at the rise missed him. Would they even care that he’d died? He’d really only been close with Avicus, who was gone.

I’m—I wouldn’t say I’m glad we found him, exactly, she whispered, finally opening her eyes to look at Riley, but at the same time, I am. We should bury him, what was left of him, anyway.

Her heart throbbed somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach as she thought of the last wolf she’d helped put in the ground. Masquerade exhaled shakily as she looked sadly upon Ashlar’s corpse. He hadn’t deserved this fate, dying alone and likely heartbroken. The least they could do was give his remains a proper burial.

He disappeared right after mother died. I wonder if he left because he knew it would never be the same without her, Masquerade mused, something darkling in her marigold gaze.

At the best of times, Riley was not one for words. He stared down at the body as Masque spoke - on both of their behalves.

Was there anyone at the Rise that would care? This was such an unpleasant thought, it elicited a knifeblade of discomfort in Riley. If it was him face down in the bog instead of Ashlar, he supposed it was the same thing. Only Masque would care.

This made him realize he loved the Rise less.

It was awful to think he'd died out here alone, but to Masque's point, Riley wondered if there wasn't something poetic about it. I guess... They're together now. He didn't say it, but he knew that he and Ashlar were one in the same in that regard. Life was already so hard -- why live it if your only source of joy was gone?

He grunted, bending down to inspect where was best to grab him. Every part of Once-Ashlar was sodden and fragile. There was no escaping it - he inhaled, held his breath, and grabbed Once-Ashlar's spine -- grunting for Masque to take the lead on the direction while he tugged the man from his murky deathbed.

She wondered if Riley really believed that. Masquerade couldn’t imagine anything came after death except for oblivion, though part of her often wondered if a small part of Avicus’s energy really had found its way into her. It was hard to believe anything could fully stop the Wealda, although perhaps death really was the great equalizer.

I hate to say it but we should probably drag him over there, Masque said, pointing at the same spot where she’d sunk into the semiliquid soil.

She bent to join her mate in the grisly task in the hope of expediting it. It felt like it took ages to drag Ashlar’s badly decomposed body toward the sludge pit. Masquerade released her hold with a little gasp, backpedaling quickly lest she sink in again. Morbidly, she observed the quagmire slowly swallowing the body.

Glancing up at Riley, she suddenly wondered what he’d do if anything happened to her. As sorry as she felt for poor Ashlar, she felt a surge of anger at the notion of Riley just giving up. She doubted Avicus would’ve wanted that for Ashlar and Masquerade certainly didn’t that for her man.

It was and wasn’t the right moment to share such a crass thought. Masque pressed her lips together and walked around the corpse to thrust her head fiercely beneath Riley’s chin, pressing close to him. With her head pressed into the curve of his throat, they stared in tandem at Ashlar’s earthly remains for a moment.

With a sigh, she drew away and turned her back to the mucky grave. She dug her forepaws into the putrid loam and began gently tossing it backward.

It was grueling work to extract Ashlar from the pit, and then place him in another. Riley's shoulders were sore by the time the duo watched what was left of Ashlar sink beyond sight.

In that moment while Masque's mind raced, Riley's was oddly calm. He wondered -- abstractly, maybe -- what denizens of the deep would eat Ashlar; if his bones would ever resurface, if anyone would ever come across him tens of years into the future - would they wonder who Ashlar was, what kind of life he'd led, what kind of man he was?

Masque pressed her head beneath his chin and then she was turning, flinging dirt back into the pit. Riley padded through the squelching loam behind her, offering a few heavy slugs of his own forelimbs.

When it was done, he tried to find something to say -- but it was a moment that didn't need his feeble words to illuminate its preciousness.

Afterward, Masque desperately needed a bath. Riley did too, by the look of him. But as badly as she wanted to get away from this place, she made herself sit for a moment to collect her energy and reflect.

Some time later, she broke the melancholy silence to say wryly to her mate, I promise we’ll do some hunting on this hunty-moon soon.

She sighed and closed the distance between them once more, which thankfully wasn’t very much. Masque bumped her crown beneath Riley’s chin, then slipped away so she could catch his eye.

Tomorrow, she declared softly. We’ll hunt and explore and enjoy ourselves. I promise, she repeated.

She blinked over at Ashlar’s grave. They could be sad about his loss—and Masque certainly mourned one less kindred spirit in the world—but she decided to look at this morbid discovery in a different light.

Ashlar had come out here to die. His story was over. She and Riley had come all this way to live. Their story was only just beginning.

A melancholy settled between them, the two lost in their own thoughts. Riley turned his nose to Masque as she did her trademark touch of affection; and for a moment, he just let these fleeting seconds all sink in.

He didn’t mind there wasn’t much hunting. They’d found something else — more gristly, perhaps, but no less important. The Rise would need to know of Ashlar’s death, even if few were there to care for it — and they’d done some small good, putting him to a more dignified rest.

Masque promised that tomorrow they would explore and enjoy themselves. He pressed his forehead to her with a grin: This — he gestured to the mound — was definitely not the highlight. But, I’ve enjoyed this — spending time with you. Tomorrow will be better.