Unlike the levels above it, the floor of the Moor is spongy and wet. Your hooves sink down into it

as you step - and come away red.

How strange. What do you suppose is causing this pigment in some areas? It can't possibly be blood...

Right?

The Moor stretched endlessly, its spongy, wet ground clinging to Camellia’s hooves with every step. She paused, frowning as she lifted a hoof and noticed the streak of deep crimson staining her fetlock.

“Tyffyn,” she called softly, her voice uncertain.

Tyffyn trotted back, her usual cheer dimmed by the strange atmosphere. “What is it?”

Camellia gestured to the ground. “Look. It’s… red.”

Tyffyn crouched to inspect it, her nose wrinkling. “That’s… unsettling. It smells weird too. Metallic.” She straightened quickly, her ears twitching. “But it’s not blood. Right? It can’t be blood.”

Camellia didn’t answer immediately, her gaze sweeping over the dark, misty expanse. Crimson patches shimmered faintly in the light of her lanterned staff, spreading like veins through the damp earth.

“Maybe it’s minerals,” Tyffyn offered, though her voice lacked its usual confidence. “Or, like, fungus. Something normal.”

“Normal?” Camellia murmured, her brow furrowing. “Nothing about this feels normal.”

The silence pressed in, broken only by the squelching of their hooves and the faint drip of water in the distance. The air smelled faintly of iron, sharp and acrid, and the crimson stains grew more frequent as they moved.

Tyffyn’s tail flicked nervously. “This place feels… wrong. Like it’s watching us.”

Camellia nodded, her unease deepening. “The Moor of Sleep. The legends said a great battle happened here.” She hesitated. “Do you think the land could… remember?”

Tyffyn shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it.” She forced a laugh, brittle and weak. “Let’s just keep moving. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

But Camellia couldn’t shake the feeling that the Moor wasn’t just strange—it was trying to tell them something. And whatever it was, it wasn’t good.