LOVE IS ONLY A RIVER DROWNING ALL OF YOUR CHEER

Life in the Lagoon had been mostly uneventful. Jǫrmungandr had managed to avoid attracting Garmr's attention. Surely if the boss found out he'd been slacking, doing little more than clinging to the edges of the herd, he would have been swiftly removed. Yet here he was, still skulking about. Truly a miracle.

For awhile, things had been good. But then the specters of his past had risen, his shortcomings coming back to haunt him. Vvanderfell, somehow, had found her way to the Lagoon. Jǫrmungandr had not bothered pursuing her to find out why or how she had ended up in this fetid swamp. He was keenly aware that any conversation with her was bound to be unpleasant, given the way he'd up and left, offering little more than vague excuses. He hadn't even bothered to tell Sephiroth why he was leaving.

They haunted him, sometimes - the decisions he'd made. But there was no use wallowing in regret now. What was done was done.

Thus far, Jǫrmungandr had done a superb job at avoiding his former mate. It was only a matter of time, though, before their paths inevitably intersected. Far too at ease amidst the thick fog and steady drizzle that covered the Lagoon, Jǫrmungandr was scarcely paying attention to his surroundings. Perhaps, if he had been, he might have noticed sooner the familiar aroma that surrounded him. As it was, by the time he bothered to take notice of his surroundings, pale nostrils flaring wide, it was far too late - a rustling in the bushes nearby caught his attention, his head jerking towards the source of the noise, his entire body tense in anticipation.