Otatso Wetlands bottom of the river (p - marek)

Was this punishment? North had provided him with a cooler climate in his youth, and now this place that he had traveled to was a sweltering swamp of suffering. He was not daft enough to believe that he was being punished but it certainly felt like it on a day like today. Otatso was a wetland and thus, humidity came with the heat and the ground threatened to swallow him with every step sojourned. He was humored that his eyes mimicked the landscape before him, green and brown and rather hostile to the untrained, unfamiliar.

Hours earlier and Marek would have stood out like a sore thumb. Hours past and now his thick coat of white fur was marred by dirt, mud, and decaying plant materials. He knew he was not a pretty sight to be seen, but sought to be seen by the stranger sighted just a moment ago. Was he camouflaged? Marek couldn't say, simply because there was no reflection in the brackish swamp waters, but he imagined he looked like quite the dashing fella.

Hey. You're all right. He remarked aloud, trying not to startle her (which he assumed which might result in him making an ass of himself, but at least, not of her, eliminating the you and keeping the me). He stated the obvious, since she was breathing and appeared to be in one piece.