From the Cocoon

[Amakiir]

How long had it been, now? A week, a month, two months, three-hundred forty-six years? Time was relative when it was spent dodging trigger-happy minutemen through a flooded marsh, and it didn't help that it looked like every other bloody marsh Xander had passed through. He stopped to pull yet another patch of wet leaves and rotting plant matter from his legs as he clambered onto dry land, brushing the sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. The first stump he sat on nearly sank into the muck but the second one was thankfully more willing to put up with him, stopping to catch his breath and untie his boots. He pulled one free with a grunt if relief and turned it over, slapping the heel with his other hand to dislodge sand and a few small pebbles.

The second followed suit and he took a moment to stretch out his damp and wrinkled toes before reluctantly pulling the boots back on and standing. He slapped at a yet another mosquito that landed on his arm as he surveyed the area, giving a sigh of contempt at the flat expanse of murky water standing between him and the next bit of flat ground. After a furtive look back the way he had come he edged as close to the water as he could and bent at the knees, throwing his arms back and leaning forward. The ground shrunk beneath him when he leaped forward with a grunt of exertion and a prayer, eyes locked onto the next mound of exposed earth surrounded by water and floating vegetation. He felt a but of exhilaration at the rush of wind past his ears, whipping past twisted branches in his jumping arc.

His feet struck true onto the almost-dry ground, and immediately sunk down upon impact and sending his face forward to leave a clear impression in the mud. He pushed himself up and spat madly to get the taste of wet dirt and grime out of his mouth, wishing for the twenty-seventh time that he had something safe to drink in this humid swamp. "Water, water, everywhere..." he muttered aloud to no one, attempting to spit the bitterness from his voice along with what he suspended might have been a frog. He pulled one foot and then the other from the muck and kicked outward in irritation, a clump of mud flying from each boot to splash into the water with a loud splash, almost deafening in the otherwise quiet afternoon air. He knelt and wiped what he could from one of the few things he had managed to retrieve from the evidence lockup before his escape.

His boots and belt may have been worse for the wear but he was unwilling to leave them behind, the oversized guard pants however would find themselves in a bonfire the moment he got home. If I get home, he thought darkly, placing a hand onto a nearby tree to steady himself and nearly toppling into the water when it swayed outward under his weight. A splash nearby had him spinning on the spot with fists raised, hair on the back of his neck standing on end and feeling a hot flush across his skin. A minute passed, then another and another, but the would-be assassins were nowhere to be seen. A second splash caught his eye when a branch from the same tree he had leaned on fell off onto the water's surface and began to float past, resulting in a loud crack to echo through the area when he slapped an open palm to his forehead. "C'mon man, focus. Its's a swamp, trees rot and fall apart, frogs fart in the water and branches float everywhere."

That last part gave him pause and he looked down at the branch again, still bobbing along the surface. They did float, and that may be his ticket through this mess as he began sizing up the decayed tree nearby. Fairly thin but it had moved easily enough, a good jolt should be enough to knock it down and serve as a makeshift raft. Provided it didn't sink under his weight, anyway. A few tentative pushes showed that while it did move, it was going to need a bigger shove to convince it to cooperate. Gripping the sides with both hands he strained to twist it free of the soft muck, cracking free a bit of rotted wood but otherwise serving only to dig a large sliver into his hand. He pulled his hand back with a start and turned, coiling one leg kicking out at the trunk in frustration to being rewarded with a definitive cracking sound.

The crackle of breaking wood continued to grow as the tree came crashing to the water with aching slowness, spraying the immediate with murky water and a noise that made Xander's teeth grind. It appeared only the birds taking flight had noticed the disturbance if their squawking swears were any indication. After some awkward positioning he finally managed to balance atop the dead tree and kicked off from the earth mound, pulling it along using standing trees that he passed as he floated onward. After several hours of imitating a waterlogged gargoyle, much of which spent digging the sliver out of his palm with his teeth, the barest flicker of lights could be seen ahead through the brush. He wasn't sure if they were coming from New Marais or not, but with any luck he'd at least be out of the swamp and off the menu for these blasted mosquitoes.