" 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?"

✦

Archimedes stepped cautiously, the squelch of the Moor’s floor beneath his hooves grating on his nerves. Each step left a red stain on his fetlocks, the pigment seeping into his coat like ink on parchment. He paused, lifting a hoof to examine it more closely, his sharp eyes narrowing.

“Curious....” he murmured.

Cerridwen, trailing just behind, stopped as well. She tilted her head, her gaze flitting between Archimedes’s stained hoof and the ground beneath them. “You’re thinking it’s blood, aren’t you?” she teased, though her voice held a faint note of unease.

Archimedes shook his head, his mane shifting slightly with the motion. “Unlikely,” he replied, shortly. “The consistency is wrong, and the saturation too uniform. If it were blood, it would have long since dried or dispersed in the marsh.”

Cerridwen’s expression brightened, her natural optimism bubbling through. “So, what is it, then? Some kind of mineral, maybe? Or a plant?”

Archimedes didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned down, his muzzle close to the ground as he inspected the red-tinted muck. The smell was earthy, with a faint metallic tang—not entirely unlike iron. He prodded the surface with a hoof, watching as the red pigment pooled around the pressure point.

“Perhaps an algal bloom,” he mused aloud, his voice steady. “Or iron deposits seeping up through the water table. This region is geologically unstable, after all.”

Cerridwen chuckled, stepping closer. “You always have the most practical explanations. But what if it is something stranger? The Moor isn’t exactly known for following the rules of science.”

Archimedes straightened, his gaze sharp as he regarded her. “Strangeness is no excuse to abandon reason,” he said, though there was no malice in his tone.

Cerridwen smiled, unbothered by his rebuttal. “Fair enough. But I think a little imagination wouldn’t hurt, either. Maybe it’s the remnants of an ancient battle. All the blood spilled here soaked into the earth and—”

“Cerridwen,” Archimedes interrupted, though his voice was gentler than usual. “Speculation without evidence is—”

“Fun?” she interjected, grinning.

Archimedes sighed, though there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Impractical.”

Cerridwen laughed, a sound that cut through the eerie quiet of the Moor like a ray of sunlight. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Archimedes didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took another step forward, his hooves sinking into the spongy ground. The red pigment clung to him like a mystery begging to be solved.

“Perhaps,” he said at last, his voice thoughtful. “But some answers require patience and observations.”

Cerridwen nodded, falling into step beside him. “And a little imagination,” she added, her tone playful.

Archimedes didn’t argue. For now, the Moor’s secrets would remain just that—secrets. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers, whatever they were, lay just beneath the surface.