Wasteland

Ludovic attempted to move with grace, trying to avoid sinking into the muck beneath his paws. The air was heavy with moisture, clinging to his fur in a sodden, blanketing sort of way. Mist and fog crawled low over the murky pools of stagnant water, weaving around the gnarled roots of mossy trees that jutted from the ground. It felt like a part of the world left to rot, hidden away and forgotten.

His mismatched eyes—emerald and crimson—scanned his surroundings with a watchful sharpness. There was no telling if anything dangerous lurked within the swamp while he was trudging through it. Hell, it was alive in its stillness of croaking toads and buzzing insects, so he was careful to listen close to any footfalls.

Ludovic breathed in slowly, decay and mold entering his nares. Would he smell like the swamp once he left it? The thought was accompanied by the faintest quirk of his mouth, half amusement, half curiosity. He could gross out Araxina if the mire clung to him that long.

He moved onward, weaving between trees, hopping over soaked dead logs; his paws made faint sloshes where water turned shallow, mud sucking at his weight in protest. Despite the gloom, Ludovic moved unbothered, perhaps even comfortable, his gait confident but unhurried—the swagger of a young wolf who belonged to himself, no matter the land.

The deeper he went, the air seemed to thicken. The shadows pressed closer, and the swamp’s damp chill seeped into his bones, though he didn’t falter. Here, alone, there were no eyes to watch, no demands to meet. He could simply exist, his mind wandering as freely as his body. Pausing at the edge of a stagnant pool, he studied the water’s cloudy surface. His reflection peeking through faintly, broken apart by lazy ripples and darting insects. “Charming,” he muttered dryly, voice smooth with an edge of mockery. Though whether his comment was toward himself or the landscape? Who could tell.

Then a sound broke the swamp’s stillness. Well not really a sound. It hadn’t been silent, no of course not, but all of a sudden to his right the frogs stopped croaking. Ludovic’s head tilted slightly, ears twitching forward as his skull swiveled to watch in that direction. To wait and see.

"speech"