[SE] it's a mud, mud world

JUST STARING AT THE SUNRISE
ABOVE THIS HOLLOW TOWN
BEEN CHASING EMPTY MEMORIES
THE KIND THAT'S KEEPING YOU DOWN

When Iskra had grand plans of adventuring with her and cutting down foes left and right, he envisioned something more than...mud. He glances over the side of the Firecracker, gaze sweeping over the slop of terrain that this place had become. "Reminds me of the Feverlands," he grumbles, and as if wary, glances around for any signs of overly sized toads.

Better off for the ground than she is, he clambers down without a care, boots squelching into place. The suction is immediate, though the laces keep his shoes firmly about his foot, but the way the mud pulls back nips at his joints even, such is its grasp. Every other step proves to be effort, and however careful, each stride flicks it up and sends it spraying against his pants and around him.

Goose hops out of the ship with his usual reckless abandon, taking to the scene instantly. While he'd always prefer snow, the shift and the wet and the cool kiss of the mud begs him to wreck his pale coat. He flops down onto his side, back legs shoving him along, shoulder skimming over the wet ground and creating a wave of grime that folds up and over his side. He buries his snout into it, snuffling in utter delight. At that, Iskra grimaces deeply, a massive sigh puffing free. "At least someone is enjoying it," he reasons without any actual appreciation for it. "Absolute disaster," he mutters, shaking his head and trying to keep distance between him and the hound before Goose decides to shake and he's caught in the radius.

He finds his place near her, expression lifting with surprise as he glances over on the heels of her tale. "Mass carnage? From memory mud?" Maybe he's never been so involved with it, but he's dealt with memory snow. A nuisance, to be sure, but not one of the things he'd rank high on the danger list usually.

THIS SENSE OF INDECISION
AIN'T WHAT WE HAD IN MIND
THE DREAM THAT I ENVISIONED
I AM STILL HOPING TO FIND