The mud sucked at her boots, made her stumble. In all her armour Cordula held no delusions of being quiet at the best of times, but all this splashing and cursing wasn’t getting her anywhere, just increasing the chance she got sucked under, or that something mortiferous heard and reckoned it could get a solid meal out of her.
She circled, lost, direction unfathomable with each patch of ground all dislocated from the next by the wall of white, and finally set her arse down on a mouldering log.
What choice was there? Whoever it was, they were gone. Disappeared just as soundly as Dag and the injured guard, the path, and even the cathedral spire of Gilneas. Now that was proper disconcerting. The sight of the city was meant to be a constant.