The group finishes breakfast and packs up the camp before heading north towards the Black Fens. The forest slowly gives way to the marsh as the ground underfoot slowly changes from solid to thick and muddy. It takes effort to pick a path that doesn't have you suddenly knee deep in muck or swamp water, but through Pawetha's guidance you manage without much trouble. As the sun begins to reach the horizon, the sky turning a dark and ominous red, the stench of death reaches your nostrils.
A low, mossy island of mud and peat protrudes from the marsh waters ahead. Two gnarled trees grow fitfully on the rugged ground, and sprawled across their turgid roots is the ruined and bloody remains of a horse-sized owl. The once-magnificent bird's body has been partially dissolved in places, and swaths of foul, dark green fluid still sizzle and pop, eating away at exposed flesh and bone.
