The stench was incredible. It reminded him of the carcass of a whale he once had found washed up on a beach, many years and miles away. It had been dead for weeks, maybe months, and very little remained of the corpse. Barely more than bones and leathery skin, it had still emanated an odor so foul that he had stumbled away, nose crawling as though filled with maggots, ears buzzing with the sound of fat flies and with the taste of festering blubber and bloated entrails lingering on the tongue for days afterwards. It all came back to him now as he plunged through the mud of the marsh, wading in filth that reached him to the knees, that sucked the hooves in and threatened to hold him down - only reluctantly letting go with a sickening smack as air rushed into the pasty vacuum formed.

In a sick, twisted kind of way, Lace actually enjoyed the grime that accumulated on his normally so pristine coat. It gave him a morbid sense of satisfaction to think of the rotting corpses below the surface that slowly decomposed in the moisture, bones softening and eroding away in the grasp of enzymes and microorganisms created with the sole purpose of breaking down what once had been created. The return of the sun only increased the process. In the mere days since the return of the Lord the March had managed to heat up into a sweltering, damp oven filled with buzzing insects, flitting birds and shy, wary animals that scurried overhead in the canopy, staring down at him where he passed as though he was a madman. And maybe he was. It was a challenge to steer clear of the glossy, alluring pools of water that surrounded the larger lake, its surface much too smooth, the scent of its liquid too sweet and tempting.

The stallion had been there before, and knew better than to lower the muzzle into the treacherous depths. He had seen what became of the struggling beasts that foolishly had given in to temptation only to get stuck without a source of air, doomed to die from lack of air - or worse, from starvation of being eaten alive by the many predators that loomed in the shadows. This was a graveyard, a temple of death and a monument over the feebleness of life.

He was glad that Fajira was off somewhere else, away on one of her solitary adventures that usually ended in the catching of prey.

Heaving himself up on a more solid hill in the watery swamp, the stallion paused for a moment to breathe and recover his bearings. It was a mere whim that had driven him into the labyrinth of roots and waterways, a daredevil decision to try and reach the sea this way, instead of walking around it towards the Endless Blue like he normally would have done. By now he was starting to regret it; the sun was high in the sky, midday would soon have passed and he still hadn't gotten even half-way through. A grimace passed over the mud-stained face at the thought of having to spend the night in the march, and with a sigh the grullo pushed himself forward, intent on continuing on for as long as he could see where he was going.

It wouldn't do to get lost, not here, of all places.

@[Psyche]

Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again- again- again-