#dorianpxvus

    ❧;;     Her footsteps were careful and deliberate--at least as much as they                    could be through the general, winding path filled in by rain and                    stagnant water. The Mire was dreary enough during their first visit,                    and as much as Ellana would have preferred never returning again,                    a newly-torn rift required immediate attention. She did not make her                    discomfort known, however Cenah's incessant complaints about their                    current whereabouts certainly made up for the warrior's lack thereof.                    Still she trudged ever onward, slugging through the mud and whatever                    illness-borne disease pooled within it.

                   With her head ducked and her slender, albeit physically robust frame                    soldiering through it, Ellana came to a slow stop. Endless rain splashed                    into the puddles at her feet, gentle ripples rolling over her toes and                    further as she turned her head to gaze back towards those who                    volunteered--or were perhaps selected--to venture back into plague-                    filled lands. Like pestilence personified.