Midwinter Offering toddled along, trying to maintain his footing while also not spilling the blueberries in the hollowed out gourd he carried in his mouth. The uneven terrain and the awkward feeling of his growing midsection made travel more of a challenge than he'd expected. Were roots always this gnarled? Was there always this much mud? He couldn't tell. Pausing to adjust, the little zikwa took a deep breath and pressed on with renewed determination. His grandmother's words sat on his mind like a comforting embrace, and he knew that he was moving in the right direction.
Soon enough, Midwinter Offering felt like he was far enough into the Swamp that he might find some peace. It was probably best to have a clear head when you did this, he was told. That's kind of hard to do when you're hungry all the time and it feels like you ate a bunch of rocks that kick, he thought to himself, chuckling lightly. Finally, he found a suitable place to wait, and set the gourd down on a large fallen leaf.
It was quieter in this part of the Swamp than he was used to. His ears flicked to and fro, trying to pick up on all the little chirps and skitters of bugs and small creatures around him. Midwinter Offering knew that Mares and Stags could take many forms, and the thought that one was already there may have crossed his mind. He cleared his throat, suddenly more serious. This was not something he wanted to mess up. Closing his eyes, Midwinter's chest rose with another deep breath, and he let it out of his nose slowly, thinking intently about why he was there and what he hoped would pass by.
peanutbutter wrote:Hi ilu