Soggy Ghost

As Sybil traveled south, the ground softened and the air got thicker. She didn’t mind the fog, it
enveloped her in a comforting embrace, and she liked how it blurred the edges between her
pale fur and the vapour. A ghost. She liked pretending to be intangible, beyond any common
dog’s grasp.

What she didn’t like was the cold puddles she seemed to step into every minute. The ice was thin,
as if it were simply a crunchy coating on the original surface tension, caving easily with a touch.
Her pace had been leisurely before, but she was considering moving quicker, if she even could.

She took a moment on solid earth, white with snow, to spare herself from more freezing water.
And she had dared to think this continent would grow on her. She sat, grumpy as all hell, glaring
at the frozen swamp around her.

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