Question anyone in Cradle what Hell is and you’ll see a clear division. For as the majority would liken the insides of a hive to the inferno, those who have wandered the cold, boggy, unending landscape of fog and ice-cold waters, will tell you that Hell is, in fact, a region called Longmire.
For days and nights, they’d wandered through the hungry hummus gripping their boots greedily with every missed step. Even Zeke’s red, fiery fur had been caked with a slick oatmeal of dark debris - courtesy of the swamp’s unending depths.
Luna had gone through distinct moods as they wandered through the landscape - from her initial fascination with the new biome, to a seething hatred for its uncomfortable, hungry gripping and finally, after days of unrest, she had begun a melancholic, blank-faced stare into the distance.
Not at all unlike the youngest of the party of five. Abraham’s eyes were ringed with darkness, but that was hardly new. Ever since departing from their mountain home, he had struggled to occupy his roiling mind to dispel the flashes of memories - of gore, horror and dread. He had lost both his boots to the mire and, like his three black-coated companions, he seemed to meld into the darkness; his brown leather tunic mixing in well with the puddles of hummus.
Lastly, behind Luna and Zeke, a pair of porcelain-masked forms wandered atop the mire with relative ease, at least in comparison to their companions. Logan, his mask displaying the bared, furious teeth of a beast, walked with a light step, but more importantly knew where to avoid stepping, as to not fall for the mossy ruse.
The one named Smile had caught up to them shortly after their arrival in the swamp - riding the most beautiful beast Luna had ever seen. The long, white fur of the snow foxhound was fluffy and seemingly retardant to the oppressively clingy mud. Its long, triangular-like, green eyes conveyed the stark opposite of Logan’s beast - a dignity and a grace one would be hard-pressed to find on a red field-setter. Twice, Luna had tried to touch the majestic fur, only to have it stare at her as if she were a pestilent beast - too disgusting and lowly to earn its favor. Not at all unlike how she really felt as she pressed on through the mire.
The most enviable feature of the beast was how its feet seemed to float atop the waters whenever it had to step into it - so quick it never really sunk down. According to Logan, the white foxhounds were known for their grace, their dignity and for their aversion to combat - well befitting her partner Smile… whose name Luna struggled to make sense of.
When the Ghast spoke, she spoke with no inflection or emotion and she never engaged in any lengthy conversation if it did not pertain to objective observations. But if Luna were to say anything about how humid the air was, she could trust the loathsome woman in her disturbing mask to tell her exactly what atmospheric percentage the humidity truly was.
Luna, pressing back the tears, turned to look at Logan to see him spin around to look at the sparsely vegetated fields. Soon, the sun would rise and with it, the damnable place would feel boiling hot - again reminding her of the inferno she would liken the place with. If luck was with them, Logan would find whatever he was looking for and inform them that “ah, there it is!”.
But luck escaped her yet again, as Logan bent down to look at a withered, small bush in between the massive pits of hummus and explain: “It is not, in fact, dead. But they don’t need the greenery - they rely on metabolism of animal matter, rather than sunlight.” She squeezed her eyes shut and muttered a few obscenities before returning to stare at the mire sucking at her boots again.
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“Interesting. How does it digest?” There it was again - that flat, feminine voice that made Luna’s hands turn into tight fists. She never asked follow-ups of her nor Abraham, but the bitch couldn’t stop talking when she spoke to Logan. Luna turned to glare at the black, round eye-holes of the mute-frowned mask and would’ve spat, had her mouth not been so dry.
“They actually don’t. These pits do it for them. That bubbling you see over there is actually a release of flammable gasses, meaning there’s some type of digestion going on down there. The roots grow into the pits-” She couldn’t stand it for a second longer. She was too tired to listen to it.
“Logos damnit, Logan! Would you shut up!? I’m exhausted - we’ve been walking for days without sleeping! I get that we can’t put up a tent in this fucking mud, but please! Just find a way - can’t we all sleep on Grin’s foxthing!? Something!?” She imagined he was blinking behind his mask as he rose up.
“My name is Smile, Miss Luna. Marlena cannot handle your weight and she is particular about who she lets ride with her.” Abraham turned to flash a desperate glare in Logan’s direction - he couldn’t stomach another fight. Not now. Not then and there. As Logan and Abraham were both learning, it seemed the two women did not get along and with every opportunity that arose, it seemed Smile would find a way to fiercely irk the Logoruum girl.
“Did you just call me fat? I wouldn’t be fucking fat if your damn associate-partner…asshole didn’t feed me meat all the time!” As she spoke she pointed to the white paper pack of meat in her right hand, proving the point.
Abraham couldn’t understand any of it. To him, Luna still seemed somewhat malnourished, as all her weight seemed to go where he imagined a woman should have her meat. But he supposed being used to a life of being on the brink of starving to death would have those effects now that she was on the healthier, but still the thinner side. Abraham’s eyes continued to plead with his startled Master next to the equally unnerved, red, dirty Zeke, but it was a plea that fell on deaf eyes. He hadn’t a clue what to do about it.
It was as Luna raised her hand to make an obscene gesture that Logan remembered that he might have a solution to their conundrum - some way to make their journey slightly less hellish. While Luna attempted to make her way over towards him - her eyes burning with murder, he reached into the pack strapped to Zeke’s back and retrieved a gnarly, pale root. He had saved the precious thing for years, imagining he’d use it to celebrate the murder of a colossal behemoth, but this was as good a time as any.
He took the pale root down to his hip, where he cut a single slice in the vegetable with the blunted edge of his bent and worn silver blade and presented it towards her. She stopped right in front of him and rested her eyes on the pale slice of slimy root.
“What? You’re gonna feed me potatoes? I thought you said I only needed meat.” He was, of course, referring to her unnatural anatomy due to a symbiotic parasite wrapped around her innards and although not entirely true, she had gotten the gist of his presentation on the matter.
“Need is relative, darling. I found this at the frontier - in the pack of a shaman I killed. I tried feeding it to one of the initiates and… well, let’s just say it made his life a whole lot better, at least until the morning. If memory serves me right, we’re about half a day’s walk away, still.” Her lips began to tremble as she took the slice and quickly brought it to her mouth - hoping to feel anything but the cold, clammy wetness lining most of her body.
“C-Can I have some of that, Logan?” Abraham spoke over the suctioning noise of his boots. Logan nodded and confirmed: “Of course you can. Just don’t handle anything sharp until the effect wears off, all right?” Abraham nodded and grabbed the second slice, bringing it to his mouth where he mired in the richly disgusting texture of the slimy thing.