- Oct 22, 2022
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Seasons are vastly different from one another. Quite the obvious statement to make, yes, but it'll be relevant in a moment.
Take a long gander at Leaf-bare and Newleaf, draw comparisons between the two, try to identify common threads that run through both. You can't, not really. The marsh stands dead and still in one, while in the other, life flourishes. One brings unforgiving winds which'll nip at your spine every other moment, while the other blows gentle breezes and brings warm, comforting sunlight. No commonalities. None whatsoever. And the same can be applied to every other season.
Though as Smogmaw saw it, the shift from Newleaf to Greenleaf was usually so subtle that it passed unnoticed. Like a murmur compared to a shout. The end of Newleaf and the beginning of Greenleaf blended together without so much as a hint of separation. Except this time. This time, the drying up of excess water and populations stuck out like a thorn. So different than how things had been a mere moon ago.
All this to say: Smogmaw was a touch too confident that the swamp had all dried up. Because, what he'd initially made out to be a thirsty and crackled patch of earth ended up being a mud trap.
A foreleg plunged through the scungy muck. It's an erratic motion, jarring and sudden, and his ankle pops painfully in response. The breath sucks out Smogmaw's lungs, lips parting for a gasp, and then his footing betrays him completely. He falls with a yowl, plopping face-first into the wretched pit; mud on his snout, his cheeks, and chest.
"You kiddin' me?" Smogmaw rasps to no one in particular, while squinted eyes forage for Singepaw, Bloodpaw, or any patrol passing over yonder. It's a very compromising potion that he's in - front half deep, rear end pointing heavenward, with a hind leg swinging loosely for balance's sake. He'll bite his tongue before asking for help and making himself look even more sorry. "I'm stuck." The deputy instead makes a woeful mew. "I'm stuuuuuuuck."
Take a long gander at Leaf-bare and Newleaf, draw comparisons between the two, try to identify common threads that run through both. You can't, not really. The marsh stands dead and still in one, while in the other, life flourishes. One brings unforgiving winds which'll nip at your spine every other moment, while the other blows gentle breezes and brings warm, comforting sunlight. No commonalities. None whatsoever. And the same can be applied to every other season.
Though as Smogmaw saw it, the shift from Newleaf to Greenleaf was usually so subtle that it passed unnoticed. Like a murmur compared to a shout. The end of Newleaf and the beginning of Greenleaf blended together without so much as a hint of separation. Except this time. This time, the drying up of excess water and populations stuck out like a thorn. So different than how things had been a mere moon ago.
All this to say: Smogmaw was a touch too confident that the swamp had all dried up. Because, what he'd initially made out to be a thirsty and crackled patch of earth ended up being a mud trap.
A foreleg plunged through the scungy muck. It's an erratic motion, jarring and sudden, and his ankle pops painfully in response. The breath sucks out Smogmaw's lungs, lips parting for a gasp, and then his footing betrays him completely. He falls with a yowl, plopping face-first into the wretched pit; mud on his snout, his cheeks, and chest.
"You kiddin' me?" Smogmaw rasps to no one in particular, while squinted eyes forage for Singepaw, Bloodpaw, or any patrol passing over yonder. It's a very compromising potion that he's in - front half deep, rear end pointing heavenward, with a hind leg swinging loosely for balance's sake. He'll bite his tongue before asking for help and making himself look even more sorry. "I'm stuck." The deputy instead makes a woeful mew. "I'm stuuuuuuuck."