this thing that was once human, now mud-hided indelicate idol, perched stretching and scratching on the putrid marsh-rocks. knowing nothing but loping, lazing, lunging.
wrapped in wisps, fists digging into eyes, a wanderer with busted mind. gone to wildness rather than even look at the tenuous span of that rope bridge in the clouds, or the waterfall that seems to spatter from the sky itself, fountaining from a star-scraping splinter of rock.