BUT STILL, LIKE DUST, I RISE

Scouting.

His task from Krueger was to scout this new land and report back with his findings. It was a simple enough to follow and not an unfamiliar request. Explore for a while and return with information. If he was quick, he should have been able to cover quiet a bit before they had to meet again. Which was what he thought before actually he crossed into the swamp and his heavy paws quickly got stuck in the mud.

The feeling of muck squishing between his toes and the smell of swamp water was nothing short of uncomfortable. If he were not so dedicated to doing as he was asked, he would have turned around. Or at least, he would have if he wasn't caught somewhere between slipping in the brackish water and trying to yank his paws free of dark slush. Did this place have no end? Would he ever make it there if it did?

He wasn't sure of the answer, but he was certain that the swamp was a place he did not like.

It was unusual to him, as much was in this land. His homeland was flat and the ground was solid, much unlike the mess he was slipping and sliding in now. On more than on occasion he had fallen, drenching himself in swamp water and making his mood poorer than it already was.

The fall was as embarrassing as it irritating and was only made worse when he noticed he was not as alone as he thought. A lioness was there as well, though what she was doing, he was not certain. Did she have a gladiator or was she one as well? He had not recalled seeing in the fighting crater that drew so many.

Before his liberation, he was largely disinterested in others but freedom did have such a funny way of changing things. Which was exactly why he stared directly at @Fallon, unbothered by what she would think — a habit that was never broken.

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And unlike @Rosencrantz, Fallon finds the Swamp to be relaxing. It is where she goes to unwind and to allow herself some reprieve from the droll of the day. Vera is still missing and she sees less of her husband.. and her children who are now growing quickly and seeking their own independence. The Salem woman would be lying if she said that she was happy. She felt entirely unfulfilled. So she flees to the Swamp to roll about in the muck, draping herself in the mud and concealing her appearance and her scent, delighted by the mask that she now wears.

But after having spent hours in the grime, Fallon determines that it is time to move. She is not sure to where and to do what but with a sigh, lithe figurine rises and begins to slink towards the depths of the Jungle, sticking to the shadows and aiming to go unnoticed. Though when her bright fuchsia gaze alights on a figure ahead, the idea of a fun game does not go amiss in her brain. Silently, she follows him, stalking behind the oddly coloured beast and watching with mild amusement when he falls not once or twice but at least three times.

Carefully, the woman slinks around the male, coming to stand very still in his path. In return, he stares. "What hurts more? Your pride or your behind from all of the falling?" she teases after a pregnant pause, a dark brow quirking.

BUT STILL, LIKE DUST, I RISE

He had been far too busy falling to notice that had been followed. Be it for sport or more malicious intent, the way this strange lioness jests about his tumbling told him she had been watching. For how long, he wasn't certain but that makes him no less irritated with being followed. He holds his tongue however, sure her teasing meant she was not a gladiator at all.

It had yet to occur to him that the rest of the world did not necessarily follow the conventions he was accustomed to, but then, the very idea of that was unthinkable. His life had revolved around the pit fighting he was subjected to — the price for his abomination, a mercy — so it only made sense to him that everyone else was the same.

Certain she knew of his status — who could look at him and not? — he dare not ignore her. It was hard, however, to tell who exactly she was and thus, how he should speak. Freedom may have meant he was more curious of the world, but it did not also mean he'd forgotten the past five years of his life. She did not look like or carry the scent of anyone or anything he could remember but he was far more interested in her. Surely, she had fallen too. Why else would she be covered in mud?

Confused, he titled his head, answering @Fallon as though she were not teasing. "Behind. Pride feels no pain." But the matter of her being as muddy as him prompted a question of his own. "You fell too?"

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A typical man -- one with an impenetrable sense of pride. Fallon near resists the temptation to snort in reply though in the end, she manages an exasperated look in the patched male's direction, though not without a glimmer of amusement in her right pink eyes. "I highly doubt that -- we all have our sore spots," the Lorien Noble responds with a shrug of her lithe shoulders -- it was simply a matter of time before she would find his.

At his query, a flourishing smirk forms on her lips as she casts a glance at her shoulders: "Oh this? Do you like it?" she asks rhetorically as she turns her athletic body so that @Rosencrantz might be able to behold the rest of her grime smothered body. "It's my camouflage," Fallon explains, "helps me go undetected, watch others in their finest hours." Or in his case, watch as he tripped and fell in the Swamp.

"Who're you?" she asks after a while, at ease and without care.

BUT STILL, LIKE DUST, I RISE

He tilts his head, not understanding why it was she was giving him such a look. In his mind, he was right — pride didn't feel pain. Butts did. Maybe she didn't understand that. He wasn't sure, but he supposed that wasn't he problem. He was meant to be scouting but then again, it wasn't every day a mud covered lioness came to ask about how sore he was. He was sure Krueger wouldn't mind a small detour. Besides, it mean he didn't have to continue try (and failed) to get through this swamp.

When @Fallon showed off her mud-covered body, Rosie frowned. Did he like it? "No." Missing that it wasn't a question to be answer at all, he made a face of his own. Camouflage? It didn't seem very helpful in hiding much of anything. "It stinks." He said because it did, and because he didn't quite understand the usefulness of it.

Thankfully, she asked a much easier question to understand.

"My name is Rosie. Who are you?"

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