sc0urge: (Default)
sc0urge ([personal profile] sc0urge) wrote2012-11-10 05:07 pm


Today I have neither been able to motivate myself to write, nor to draw, nor to work on school work. So instead I baked a pan of muffins and a batch of cookies. Productivity! It's fun!

Oh well. I suppose I could have spent the day lying in bed...

Three travellers walked side by side through a maze of roots and fog. They stumbled, boots pulling and sucking in the thick mud, fighting for each step in water up to their hips, blackish green mud up past their knees. The thick ropy roots rose and fell in strange arched patterns like the arms of a great tentacled beast or the pillars of some strange misshapen architecture. The air was thick and heavy with heat, oppressive, smothering. Mosses growing on the highest surfaces of the roots steamed even in the mottled half sunlight that sifted through the dense canopy overhead. In the branches above, something screamed, almost a human noise of terror, and took flight in a great cacophony of rustling leaves and twigs.

“Bird,” one of the travellers questioned, pausing to wipe the sweat from his eyes, “or one of those damnable monkeys?”

The smaller of his two companions looked up at the canopy, took off her hat and fanned herself with it. She was a woman with dusky skin and hair frazzled by the moisture into a mess of curls escaping the braid in which she had attempted to restrain it. She squinted into the foliage above.

“We’ll be finding out soon enough, I warrant, if it was one of those bloody devils. Let’s hope it was a bird, else we’ll have a whole battalion of the hairy little bastards swarming us.”

The third of them merely shook his head, still staring down and the rippled surface of the brackish water, and rested his hand on the butt of the half cocked pistol tucked into the broad sash tied around his thick waist.

Up ahead, the branches up above closed overhead even more densely, the trickling waterway narrowing. The path darkened, and the tangled roots began to mesh together. The woman spat, glowering.

“Guess this way is a wash, then. Unless you feel like climbing and clambering in this death trap.”

“Not particularly. But I also don’t fancy slogging all the way back out to the shore. You really think we’re like to find a better route anywhere else?”

She sighed, scratched at the damp back of her neck, sending a few more frizzy curls astray.

“You’re probably right.”

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