Cujo grimaced as mud stuck to his dark blue feathers, the swamp was his least favorite place to be. It was a cold and foggy night, the swamp water soaking his feathers as he trudged on. He’d gotten lost during one of his nightly hunts, having taken a wrong turn. Now, he roamed the swamp, in hopes of perhaps finding something of interest to at least make his rather unpleasant exploration worth it. He would’ve liked to be home hours ago, safe and warm within the bioluminescent caves that he...
