The day is warm, fingers of sunlight stretching out over the sky and worming their way between thick leaves to poke at the ground of the swamp, small patches of moss that are less damp than the surrounding mulch. Everything is quiet- the songbirds, the eaglehounds, the myriad insects of the Swamp... all lay quiet, basking in the sunlight, warmth infusing their various limbs and appendages with a slow, molasses-like feeling.
On the ground, she curls around a great, large thing, warm and breathing slowly, waiting for it to move. But it seems it too is feeling the lack of urgency that has befallen the rest of the swamp, and she eventually relaxes, resting her head on its shoulder and hoping they will never come to an end....
These long, lazy afternoons.
