Wicked Wicked

It had taken a full day of wandering through the murk before he found it, but when he did his eyes lit up brilliantly and he instantly knew he had found his home. Amidst the mud of the swamp and the fog signs of the nearby cavern had emerged making a small stone staircase cropping out from a low hill and at the top sat a tree whose branches were draped in flowing Spanish moss. It was simply so delightfully his that he had marked every single one of the huge boulders leading up to the tree and had started digging under the roots immediately. In the following days he would decorate what he affectionately called his “front yard” with clusters of small animal skulls, mostly raccoons and opossums. He had meticulously painted the rock outcroppings with the elaborate seals of his Loa using the last of the doughy deep red berries he had brought from his homeland to do so, and made a mental note to gather more if he ever found them. The next few days were spent gathering the herbs necessary for his trances but after that he was completely settled. He took a moment to admire his work before all but skipping up the giant boulders to his den and curling up in the warm earth under the gnarled roots.

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speaking
sɹədsıɥʍ əɥꓕ