<p>Watery mud squelched between his toes with each purposeful stride, weaving in and out from between tangles of sodden wood that sometimes clawed at the fabric of his pants. Gjassi River had swelled so high, so quickly, that its excess had loosed itself over the unsuspecting wilderness for miles along its banks. Great trees were dashed to the ground, their roots loosened from beneath them by the continuous deluge. He envisioned briefly their proud branches reaching desperately toward the sky for life as they sunk into the wet and foul mire. Now that the surge had finally receded the area had become little more than a waterlogged grave-- completely unrecognizable to the quaint, wildflower dotted haven it had been earlier in the year.</p> <p>But what could you expect after all that rain?</p> <p>Lokie stopped and brushed the hair away from his eye momentarily to gaze at the extent of the damage before him; even when the ground dried out he was now certain that the trail would still be irreparable. A tired huff of air escaped his lips as he looked down at the small, pencil-drawn map in his hand for reference. He was four miles in, just before where the river bended to run alongside the trail (to its ultimate detriment), and continued on that way for another five miles; no doubt that was mostly gone as well he reflected with some ire. Looking up again he scanned the area before returning to the map; what little of his face that could be seen behind thick, black tresses screwed up with focus. He knew the land well, but he wasn’t sure which direction he wanted the alternate route to run. Lokie considered just continuing the path southeast a little ways to circumvent the old one, but the whole point of him choosing this direction in the first place was the view of the water. He doubted people would want to look at ruined trees. </p> <p>The arden reached into his bag and rifled around before pulling out an effeminately styled hairclip and messily arranging the locks away from his teal eye. He dove in again and pulled out a few more rolled up papers; gawkily trying to organize them against his chest with one hand in sluggish, clumsy motions. The task proved too complicated as a few pages slipped from his grasp and fluttered down into the mud at his feet. Lokie growled in frustration and turned to look over his shoulder with paranoia; affirming the absence of onlookers—the wind rustled peacefully through the trees but the trail behind him was empty, and he tried to assure himself that it would stay that way. It had been cloudy all day and threatened to rain; surely no one would want to be caught miles out in the wilderness if it did. Hesitant, but growing more certain of his safety he shrugged off his well-worn jacket and hung it from the skeletal branch of a drowned tree. Still clutching the crackling papers to his chest he awkwardly rolled up the overlong right sleeve of his muddy, black and purple checked shirt to reveal the mutilated arm beneath. Lokie flexed his muscles, pulling the angry, scarred flesh taut before knelling down to retrieve his notes and maps with notably more grace.</p> <p>The thick, ugly claws on his scarred hand had been cut that morning so he could draw up the new route comfortably-- the cartographer could just never manage with his left, try as he might. Lokie gently brushed away the remnants of mud with disfigured fingers and secured the unruly pages beneath the iron grip of a clip board. Grabbing a pen he marked his current location, the spot where the water damage began, and considered again the best course of action. His eye slid over the faint glimpse of hills through the broken gaps in the tree line. It was very scenic toward the west, and four miles into those hills was a rock face that could do very nicely for climbing. He scratched his leg through mud caked pants and half smiled at the thought-- It would be a very rigorous hike. He looked back at his map and made a few notes, tracing out the approximate path he would make initially, and slowly losing himself to his work.</p>
