Welcome to Gaia! ::

Bracks breathed in the humid swamp air and grimaced. It was musty-smelling and if he had to give the scent a color it would've certainly been a dirty greenish-brown. Maybe with a bit of yellow mixed in, too.

His body dropped swiftly as he hopped down from his hive, grabbing the rope that hung from it's entrance at the very last minute and cackling with unabashed joy at the elated feeling brought forth by the sudden rush of adrenaline. As soon as his boots hit the wooden planks that made up the old bridge leading to his somewhat isolated hive, Poppadile was there; bursting from the water and roaring out a couple words to his son.

"Momma, help." He said. His voice was brutish and gruff. Swampbeasts didn't use a lot of words. They didn't need them.

He must have been waiting for Bracks to wake.

"Come." He demanded.

Immediately, Bracks understood the urgency of the situation. Poppadile would rarely offer to take the yellowblood troll anywhere near Momma... and Momma rarely needed help. The boy leapt off the bridge and onto his father's back. He gripped Poppadile's rough, horn-like protrusions as they moved through the water at a pace that would terrify any nearby prey. When they made it to the patch of marshy land that Mommadile was lying upon, Bracks gasped and tears sprung to the corner of his eyes. "She- she's sick!" He yelled.

It was a sickness he had seen before, in the other crockdiles that were apart of Poppa's large brood. Her eyes seemed to have a pale film over them, and her breathing was shallow. Still, she growled when Poppadile drifted closer; snapping her teeth in Bracks' direction. Poppadile growled, too. The water around him danced.

Bracks was still looking at his Momma, brows furrowed together. He ignored the exchange of unpleasantries. "We need someone else to help us, Poppa. I can't help her. We need..." Bracks thought for a moment, then he punched his fist against the back of Poppadile's thick neck- though it did little to disturb him. "Akko!" He yelled. "Akko always knows what to do when things get mucked up." He smacked his fist reassuringly on the top of his lusus' wide, flat head. "I'll go and find her Poppa, stay with Momma."

Both of the swampbeasts growled. One, because he feared for the safety of his son; and the other, because she didn't want a troll's help. Bracks shrugged both of them off.

"I'll be back." He said. "Akko will help, you'll see." Then he dived into the water, swimming quickly towards the nearest troll-built rope bridge that would lead him to the rebellion's fearless leader.

***

"BYAKKO!!!" He yelled the troll's name loudly as he smashed his fists against the door to her hive; hopping from foot to foot as he waited for the mutantblood to awake, and- hopefully- assist. Still dripping from his brisk swim, he looked quite... well, pitiful. His eyes were rimmed with panicked tears. "Akko, Akko, AKKO!"

What if she wasn't at her hive- what if Mommadile was already dead, laying on that stupid mucking island- what if---

the door opened.

"Akko! Mommadile, she's sick-- I need help, I need help or Poppa will be sad! I don't know what to do! Akko, do you know what to do? I know you know what to do. Please muckin' do it, please!" He almost whimpered. Almost.

There was a panicked monster inside of Bracks' chest; it squeezed at his most important bits, making it hard for him to breathe- hard for him to form a sentence, let alone what he needed to explain to Byakko. This was, quite possibly, the only time he'd talked to the rebel leader in such an... informal way. He hadn't thought about that before. He'd been too eager to help his Momma to think about the fact that Byakko might not even know his muckin' name, and now here he was; about to eyeleak in front of her....

He'd idolized her from afar since his lookstubs had first made contact with her. She had, at the time, been backdropped by her most loyal; standing tall and proud as she gave some sort of speech he couldn't remember the words to. She was strong, smart, effective. She was everything that the swamp itself was teaching Bracks to be, yet she had not come from the swamp. No, she had tamed it.

Just like she planned to tame those royalist scum.

Bracks' hands shook. He took the juice, but he had no idea what he was supposed to do with it. He'd never seen one before. He shook the small rectangular box and listened to the sloshing of liquid inside. He sniffed it, then he punctured the side with the help of his buck teeth and sucked out the insides. It tasted... sweet. Like fruit. His thirst was quenched, his panic ended. He could breathe again. His mouth tasted like sugar.

He hiccuped, then made hesitant eye contact with Akko. "I dunno what trolls call it but Momma and Poppa both call it swumpsick... their- their eyes get pale 'n' pink... they start to breathe real slow... they fall asleep and- they-they..."

Bracks looked determinedly at the ground.

"I haven't seen one wake up before." He paused, hiccuped, continued. "Poppa has me burn the bodies, so the sick don't spread no more."

He looked up at Byakko, expectant- hopeful, even. "Do you have another one of those apple boxes? Was that medicine? Will it help Momma?" Panic set in again as a thought dawned upon the small troll. "WAS THAT FOR HER? SHOULD I NOT HAVE DRANK IT?! I MUCKED IT ALL UP... WE GOTTA SAVE HER!"

Bracks was stunned by the rebellion leader's words. He stared at the pinkblood, his jaw unhinged and hanging loose in its socket. "Outside the SWAMP?!" He felt such a sudden burst of energy he was forced to toss the juice box, hard, right at the wall. It hit the wooden planks with a weak thud, then fell to the floor. He ran over and grabbed the bit of trash. He flattened it and then he stowed it away in the pocket at his right hip.

His movement toward the table, now laden with the very same liquid fruit, was a brisk one. He plucked up each of them, cradling them in his arms like a grub. He looked, wide-eyed, at Byakko's weapon. Then he looked down at his hands- too full to hold his own dagger, which was always kept somewhere on his small body. "I need a pack, Akko." It was almost a whine. Almost.

The thought of leaving the swamp was suddenly at the very forefront of his mind. It had been a goal of his since he'd learned how to wobble on the fleshy extenders that were his legs. And now? He was about to just... stroll out with the rebel encampment's leader. On a mission. He was thrilled. Surely, they would be able to find some sort of medicine. Help Mommadile. Be heroes. His pumpbiscuit worked hard in his tiny concave chest. His toes curled inside his boots. Had he been a swampbeast, he might've even roared. Instead he swallowed the sound, took a long and steadying breath.

"I gotta tell Poppa first." He said. No way could he leave and not let his lusus know, even if it was the number one thing on Poppadile's list of Do Not Let Bracks Do. Surely, he would let Bracks leave with Byakko. Even the old swamp beast, particularly stern about staying the muck away from trolls, had a begrudging respect for the mutant.