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Zamanavyi didn't know why her sister Harasathi wanted Groda mushrooms. Groda were icky and poisonous and boring, and Red had better things to do than hunt for ribbity things. But Hara wanted it, and she'd said that she'd get Red an audience with the chief for the whole choosing her clan thing – which was kind of a big deal.

So here Red was, with her little stone hatchet and her shortbow, hunting for little groda. For some reason, the little bastards were being hard to find. “Come out come out!” she muttered, “I just wanna take your mushrooms.” Technically you didn't have to kill the groda to get its mushrooms but at this point, though, she'd murder them too.

“Hey!” she called out to a silhouette among the stones, “You see any Groda?”

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As Red came closer she noticed that he was a funny shade of blue and had dark eyes and hair, but that meant about as much to her as any other color. He looked familiar, in fact, she knew she'd met him before. Who he was didn't matter so much – she didn't remember things like that so well– but she was also sure he was from the tribe, at least sort of. He looked a lot like that Oblivionite that lived out along the way. Hey – maybe they were related.

Whatever.

She scowled. “My sister wants 'em. I dunno why.”

If she had to guess Hara's motives, they were probably for some sort of medicine... thing. Who knew with healers? “So, you seen 'em or not?” she asked, hands on her hips.

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“Uh...” Red thought, “Yeah.” she turned in the direction of one of Ayr's claustrophobic swamps and started for it abruptly, stopping after a few paces to turn and look back at the hybrid.

“Well?” she said, squinting at him, “You comin' or not?”

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“'Course I can catch a Groda!” Red retorted, giving him a brief, purple-eyed glare before, tromping into the damp swamplands.

In Ayr, a swamp was a place where the winds were held back by something, where rain and seed did not get swept away in every passing storm. In this sheltered sanctuary, life could live in the harsh land, taking root in the sparse soil and enriching it as equally precious sunlight filtered through the stones and Ayr's eternal clouds.

Life, being life, thrived.

Red wrinkled her nose at the smell of decaying plant matter, shoving a small lichenous bush aside as she stepped, barefoot, into the mud.

Clearly she had been looking in the wrong places. “Oh. Hey.” she said, pointing to a Groda on a rock, “There's one.” She crept up to it, wondering just how to deal with it. Should she use a bag and wrap it up, or her axe and kill it?

She decided to catch it first. She pounced, throwing her bag over it. “Haha! Gotcha!” she said, picking up a rock...

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“Well, you shouldn't talk either!” retorted Red. Much as she had wanted the company – after all, things were more fun when you weren't alone – the boy was starting to get on her nerves. At his advice, she stared at the captured groda for a moment. She knew it was poisonous, but in its slime...? If she hit it it would get all over the place and – most importantly – on her. Not that she cared – getting dirty was almost her specialty – but poison was not good. She frowned at the groda. So... what would she do?

Wait a minute...

“Its already in a bag, you idiot!” she exclaimed, baring her teeth at Peral in a snarl, “So don't tell me to put it in a bag if it's already in a bag!”

She looked at the groda again. He did have a point, though... If she bashed it like she had been going to, she could destroy the mushroom. “I'm gonna bring it back alive, let Hara deal with it.” She said casually, “She's the one that wants it, so she can get its mushroom off.”

The truth was, Red wasn't entirely sure how to go about killing the beast properly. Did you shoot it? Smash it? Stab it?

“Hey... did ya hear that?” She asked: something in the swamp's paused air had nudged her mind into wariness, but she could not figure out what it was...

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Red gave him a very cross look. “You're annoying.” she tied off the bag for the time being, ignoring the pulsating beat of the groda's breathing as it made the skin of the bag move.

With the critter out of the way, she took out her own bow, saving her throwing axes for when she knew what was bothering her.

And something was bothering her. “We're being watched...” she said warily, moving back nearer to the boy, looking along the small swamp. She had no idea how she knew, of course – it was just that prickling feeling one got when you knew you were about to be in trouble. The question was, what was watching them?

She notched an arrow to her – very much not magical - bow.

What is that? she squinted at something, some indistinct shape in the brush and, slowly, extended a finger from her bow hand to point it out to Peral – yes, that was his name, she vaguely remem bered it: Peralian.

See? she thought, petulantly, I'm quiet when I've got to be.

Not that it mattered when the dragon, who had been watching the interlopers carefully, sprang from the bushes, its teeth dripping with poison. She fired off her arrow, scoring its hide in a glancing blow before she ducked and rolled to the side, dropping her bow and taking out her stone throwing axes in one smooth motion, one in each hand.

That... is a dragon. she thought warily, watching for an opening – as it was still moving - where her axes and melee attacks could do their work.

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