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.

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Over the past month and a half Romulus had been meeting up with the fae from Moondown Shadows. He did not know if she was still a part of the pack, but he did know that he was no longer uncomfortable being around her. Which was strange because the male had never really had a friend in the world. He didn’t even know if this could be considered as friendship… but he still appreciated the fact that he could relax. In Malignant he couldn’t even take a breath without Kirastasia being there to offer him more oxygen. And he didn’t like that. To be reminded that he was on an oxygen tank was something he refused to accept. Nymeria was someone he couldn’t see but could hear, touch and understand. Someone who allowed him to listen without mentioning his status or situation. The kalak did not know if she was still fairly upset about her sister. Grief is always carried, some days it is heavier than others… but since he had not seen her for two full weeks, the gargoyle couldn’t yet understand.

Charcoal stilts traveled across the terra, moving quietly and swiftly over obstacles that one might think a blind varg would run right into. But Romulus was quite adjusted to his new life of darkness. It was no longer a problem for him to maneuver around roots, thorns and rocks. Every once in a while he would fuck up and run straight into something, but due to the shake in the pride it gave him this only occurred every once in a while. He was very careful not to make it a consistent happening. Now he shouldered his way past foliage and stepped onto the banks of a relatively small outlet that ran over rocks covered in slick moss. Pausing, the brujo found that no other vargs were in the vicinity, and he took to the water. Fall was on it’s way. Slowly but surely. And the temperature of the water gave away as much. It was starting to become more frigid. But it was not time for the changing of the seasons just yet. The warrior lowered his nape and quenched a small amount of thirst that had been stirring in his throat. And then he lifted his head, cranial swiveling in the direction from which he’d come. Waiting. This meeting place was one where you had either a hit or miss. For some unknown reason… Romulus hoped it was a hit today. Not that he WANTED to spend time with Nymeria. He COULD live without her. She was not necessary. But still…
….



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