Blanche ticked her tongue, her white neck was stately curved in an arc, and her long tail was writhing like impatient snakes. 

Brindle courser was slowly moving a few yards behind as if testing her patience. He didn’t have to worry about his dusty coat while she was stained with dirt. The sticky and warm slurry touched her heels and ruffled Blanche's feathers. She was wholeheartedly jealous of those who did not have to make incredible efforts to be the best version of herself, kind and easygoing. Cream was rather easy-nervous. The dungeons were hard for her. Compared to Logue, who has found his true purpose here. The dungeon’s pull was an easy trot for him. Blanche... All right, back from heaven to earth, breaking fluffy feathers with a splash on the swamps pulling down.

— Are you coming? —Logue tore himself away from the scrutiny she had his attention now. Cream couldn’t figure out how he looked at her, too much was embroiled in the light eyes. Apology, anxiety, responsibility, guilt.

— I’m just trying to keep us safe, while you are rushing towards your destruction. 

Blanche wanted to stomp in anger, splashing the dirt with beige hooves. But her enthusiasm was instantly replaced by worry. She’s stuck. She was so boiled that she didn’t notice how the swamp was pulling down, the warmth creeping up her ankles. The sticky long moment was passing, and for a time, Blanche lost herself in the primordial fright. In contrast to the swamps, the average warmth of the liquid in which her hooves got stuck confused the senses into a tight ball. The difference was so gradual, slow even, barely noticeable. She missed it. She was distracted. Feelings overshadowed the mind again. And the deeper she plunged… let’s already admit it, in something similar to blood, the warmer It seemed. Tears came to her eyes, unconsciously. Cream would have gasped, but she couldn’t drop a word, her sharp tongue was numb. You can barely hear it...

Lub… Dub… Lub-dub… Lub-dub, Lub-dub…

She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to feel it. Maybe she was just imagining Things? 

Shock passed. Logue's shoulder was next to hers; one touched another for a brief second, and it was enough to bring her back to her senses.

—You’re safe, breathe. — Quiet and confident, his voice was not asking but encouraging to act. Log made a few measured sighs, and Blanche repeated after him. 

It was nothing. There was nothing. Nothing was there. 

They nervously glanced at each other.