When solid ground grows soft with emerald moss and rivulets of black mud, and coffee-colored water pours slowly around the trunks of densely carpeted trees, this marks the beginning of Laod Mor: the swamp of Blossom Forest. Time itself seems to slow to a soporific crawl . . . the humid jungle air grows stagnant, thick with the scent of rich flooded earth and an abundance of green things that can be found nowhere else—except perhaps Caidir Olc. In some areas of the swamp, water rises so high the only way to cross it is to crawl across fallen logs or massive roots arching from their liquid beds; in other places a wolf might wade easily through the mire—or find a fortunate stretch of mostly dry earth. Pieces of the great river, Glaesfaet Sceawere, also slice through from time to time: small falls that feed into surprisingly clear pools, only to terminate into tar-like pits. Of course, Laod Mor’s beauty shines brightest at night. Here, fireflies gather at all times of the year . . . suffusing the shadowy place with millions of twinkling lights.

Those looking to hunt here of course find a myriad of water prey, including caiman, turtles, fish, crayfish, otters, and toads.


always know one thing;


He was escaping her. Romulus had totally thrown the ball in her court when he confessed that everything he had ever done had been in her favor—so that she would be able to live a happy life without others seeing the terrible creature that was to be beside her. He wasn’t meant for her, though he pined for her desperately whenever he had the time to do so in secret. She lingered in his thoughts even now, though his eyes were blind forever to her goddess-like beauty. Black stilts dug into the earth, throwing soil behind him. Weaving through the trees, feeling the distinct patterns of the roots beneath him in order to maneuver through the dark labyrinth—he fled. And then he turned to his left, slowed to a simple walk, and lumbered towards the stream so that he may cross and get back to Malignant Felicity where he had sold his soul.

But something was amiss here in his own world. The boy who had torn out his own eyes stopped up short, muscles tense, panting, yet suddenly hyper aware of the person who had ground before him. It was not Eriel. She had not chased him through the thicket. So who was it? Were they a threat to his getting across? Not that Rom ever thought that anyone was a threat. Despite being blind, the bastard son of a queen and a demon that had ravaged her body was quite skilled at living in his own darkness. His maw closed a bit, and his auds pricked up. Based on her perfume, it was a she-wolf. He walked forward, making his presence known just in case she had not seen him stop by, by stepping on a few dead leaves and twigs that had been left behind by the harsh winter.

Miss—are you lost? Despite the gentleness of the gesture, it was obvious that the brute would have nothing to do with the girl once she answered. He was not interested. She was merely a divide between himself and the place he wanted to be at.


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