Aran feels as if he's wasting away here. Perhaps he should've not shown up. Left the others to do this job, risk their lives. He's not fit for this, despite all of his experience so far. The Deinocornus (he has to live to check on the kids.), would he have wasted learning new things just to die here?

It's looking quite grim, especially when he trips, feels pain in his leg. Aran knows blood when he feels it, the sharp points are digging into his flesh, surely the creature will not be venomous? He knows he's wrong. This place is far more dangerous than any of the other caves. Even the one with the huge dinosaur-creatures in it.

The only thing he can do is keep going. Follow the ones ahead, hope the stragglers get left behind so he can make it.

She did not like this place. The way the slick yet sticky ground felt on her toes was deeply discomforting, and it seemed even her vision was obscured by the fumes of toxic air that hung over some areas like a dense fog. Wisperia was careful with every step she took, testing the ground in front of her to make sure it wouldn't give away under her.

The wisp dangled in front of her, illuminating the way forward.

Wisperia moves forward

Even without his sight, the scents and deafening silence gave away the danger of the marsh ahead. Reverend knew that he'd have to be careful, lest it fall into a torpid slumber, never to awake again.

"...I don't know how much longer I can go," he exhales, wincing at the burning sensation in his empty eyesockets. The vapors are making his wounds sting.

But he has to keep going. Father needs me, it thinks to itself, willing it to move forward. Mud cakes to his feathers, as he clumsily shoves stakes into the marsh. There's little rhyme or reason to it.

Reverend is holding position.

He has to keep moving. He has to press on. Spinnaker won't die here. He refuses.

I can't slow down now! he thinks, as he turns the pouch of seeds upside down to scatter them. But while he's busy with that, the mud below him erupts, surrounding him in a cloud of toxic gas.

His eyes burn, and he can't breathe. He falters, struggling to continue.

The smog clings to Kaizer's fur, making the toxic heat even worse. He squints his eyes to try and peer into the marsh, but its nearly impossible.

Well, he'll just have to be careful then. It starts strutting through the mud, placing stakes with his tail. And when he comes to a nice spot, it scatters the pouch of seeds, before urging them to sprout with its magic. They take root quickly, a comforting green among the black, grey, and purple.

Kaizer is holding position.

Galleon hadn't realized she'd bolted ahead of the group until she had fled most of the way down the trail. She'd been too hopped up on adrenaline to think. She wanted to head back, but ahead of her she heard the shocked cries of more. And she couldnt help both groups. Galleon snapped her teeth in frustration, wishing for something to thrash with them other than the very important bag she was carrying. She needed to stifle her emotions. Keep going. Galleon gave a great exhale. She needed to help whoever was ahead. Galleon gritted her teeth, pulling herself forward with her three good fins, the broken one throbbing in agony all the while.

She had been hoping for more sand. Thats what she got, albiet not in the way she'd hoped. There was sand, sure. Already liquified, too. Butt there was gas. And most worryingly, vultures circled Captain and Whistle ahead of her. Galleon, already covered in scratches with a broken fin, not to mention obviously out of her element, was a juicy target. And as she got closer, they took notice of her, malice glinting in their eyes. She wasn't in the mood for it now, though. Not when she had just dealt with them. Not when she needed to help someone.

As a vulture dove for her eyes, Galleon thrust herself up with a push of her tail. She caught its wing in her jaws, biting down until she heard bone snap. She landed heavily, feeling a fresh searing pain coarse through her front fin. Ow. She channeled her pain into a thrash, tossing the vulture away from her, and was promptly out of her thoughts. Its panicked screams seemed to serve as enough warning enough for the rest of the vultures, though.

"When I speak"
When I think

Galleon is remaining in place

Hymn continued his flight, though his wings were beginning to tire now. He shot nervous glances behind him, wary of the Huntsman who may potentially catch up. He had been lucky in escaping that encounter, and all he needed to do now was keep his lead. But that also meant if he were to mess up, it would result in death. The very bad kind.

There was a shadow- Huntsman again? Or something worse? An eyehook vulture was swooping in after him.

The Dead Marsh bore all the wrong resemblances to all the worst places Zhusha had seen. The skeletal dead trees reminded him of the Drowned Forest in Ursa, with the mind-stealing Hive lurking around every corner and unseen place. The shimmer of the deadly air was like the fundamentally-wrong glimmers of dark magic and deadly Chaos in places where voidlight usurped the rightful natural order.

He swooped above the bedraggled group, long legs trailing behind him as he scattered his seeds, then from a bird's-eye vantage point noted the locations above the marsh where the air shimmered and shifted with deadly toxicity. He took the stakes from his pouch, carefully tested the ground with dead branches he broke off from the twisted trees, and marked a way for safe passage for posterity.

His first instinct after finishing was to return to the skies, far away from the smog and misery of the toxic mud below. He was tired of all of this, tired of Hydra and its awful environment, and only wanted to claim his victory and leave. The others in this group were beaten down and tired, but it looked like they had at least managed to avoid lethal danger for now. Let them make their way at their own pace, then; they were almost out of here anyway and he for one did not want to linger.

But his sharp eyes caught the little orange jackal--he did not know their name--truly floundering in the quicksand, and sinking. They looked too weak to escape on their own, and despite the fatigue and gritty dust weighing down his feathers, the stab of worry in his gut was enough to make Zhusha turn back. He could not muster enough enthusiasm for words, but he called out to the Gembound with a loud bugle--someone would be coming for them.

burn me to ashes and scatter me in the flooding spring river
that i might drift with the fallen flowers to a place no one has known

Zhusha falls back with Fiver

Surprise, more sand! Actually, worse sand. The previous had nipped, scratched and scraped, finding its way into every irritable crevice. This sand hung heavy with wet, clinging to itself and the feet of passerby. It also smelt terrible, pungent and sulfurous.

Whistle was struggling to decide on her least favourite place in Hydra, but the Dead Marsh was coming close. She grimaced at a particularly foul looking bog, the liquid bearing a remarkable resemblance to some creature's sickly waste. Producing a cluster of more green seeds from her pouch, she approached the pond carefully.

She didn't get far before she felt her lungs begin to burn, the fog rolling off the water wyrming its way through her fragile respiratory system. She tossed the seeds in its direction, coughing harshly as she did, and continued onward. She could taste iron on her tongue, and she would choose to ignore it.

Whistle is moving forward.

The air grew thick and putrid as he puttered along, tossing seeds left and right. An eye took note of the vultures that still circled, studying the group - weighing their chances.

Because of this, the anteater almost missed the quicksand in front of him. But he was clever enough to notice in time, altering his path accordingly with little stress.

K'cil is moving forward.