Wild

Chapter 29

A frog croaks in the distance, the gentle swaying of tall reeds in the wind, the gurgling of streams filled with mud colored fish. This is what made up the swamp, the never ending expanse of thick humid air and buzzing mosquitoes.

It had a unique beauty about it, one that had a harsh exterior. It was a peaceful land, one undisturbed by humans. Not many could brave the constant discomfort the swamp offered. That was what made the sight of the silent traveler so odd. He stood low, nearly as tall as the lowest reed sprout.

His long trench coat swayed across the ground, thick with a layer of mud. His pants weren't much better, heavy dried mud weighing his legs down. But he didn't stop, even when he stumbled and fell into the mud for the hundredth time. He just got up again, a fire burning deep in his eyes.

Wilbur wouldn't stop, no matter what got in his way. He was close, he could feel it. His brothers were alive, and he was sure they were nearby. He would find them, even if it was the last thing he did. He already failed them once years ago, never again would he fail them.

The borrower dragged his boot from the ground, forcing it to take another step. It was difficult, his lungs begging him to stop. The air was thick, so much that he felt he could cut it with his sword. He could hear the buzzing of the mosquitoes, flying low overhead. Thankfully disregarding him as a meal.

The frogs didn't help much either, stealthy amphibians that hid in the thick reeds. Their mellow green skin made them blend perfectly with the muddy water. He only spotted them when they struck, flexible pink tongues shooting out above him and catching a mosquito. It was unnerving, and he wondered why they chose not to eat him.

But they did consider it, pitch black eyes watching him stumble past with curiosity. Sizing him up, judging if he would make a good meal. He kept his sword ready just in case, resting his hand on the hilt when he wasn't using it. He was ready, even if he couldn't see them, he was ready.

Wilbur snapped out of his thoughts when he saw something shift in the reeds to his right, water rippling around it. It sent waves against the reed, drawing him closer in curiosity. He took a step closer, squinting into the dim weeds.

He saw it the second it was out, the fleshy pink tongue uncurling from the amphibian's mouth. He drew his sword in a flash, swinging it out towards the tongue speeding his way. He felt the weight against his sword, the resistance against his blade before the heavy thunk.

Wilbur looked down, seeing the tongue laying in front of him. He let out a disbelieving huff of air, unsure if he actually just cut its tongue off. But he didn't get a chance to process, not before something solid hit him square in the back.

He yelped when he felt it stick, only a moment of frozen tension before he was pulled backwards. He felt the air leave his lungs, looking back enough to see bright pink in his peripheral vision.

He had just a second to process before he landed, unfortunately not on the ground. He let out a groan of disgust when he looked around the fleshy pink chamber, seeing slime dripping down the walls. "Oh that's just disgusting" he yelled, looking up at the roof of the mouth. The frogs must have finally deemed him safe to eat.

Wilbur tried to push himself up, finding his hands slick with the frog's slime. He only managed to fall back down on the squirming tongue. He grimaced, holding tightly to his sword. He looked towards the entrance of their mouth, noticing his light slowly reducing.

"Oh hell no" he yelled, holding his sword straight up into the roof of the mouth. He felt the tip of the blade press into the soft flesh, freezing the mouth he lay in. "I swear if you close your mouth this will hurt more than a splinter" he pressed the sword up just a bit for emphasis.