Going is slow through here. Thick brush and brambles line the edge of the forest, forcing Mystara and Rasmus to stay beside the river. But even then, they are moving at a snail’s pace. The mud and sand are coming together to behave like quicksand, sucking at their feet with every step as they walk.
Rasmus has a firm hold of the witch’s hand to help her step from root to stone and from stone to root. Suddenly, his foot slides into the muck.
“Damn! We can’t go on like this.” He says as he stops to look around them for an alternate route.
Mystara lets go of his hand to grasp hers together. She brings her two index fingers together at her lips and whispers something under her breath. Instantly the ground ahead of them is covered with thick flowering greenery, similar to creeping thyme. I
