The skeletal gentleman listened intently and cordially to what the werewolf had to say. He neither interrupted nor interjected and waited patiently for her to finish speaking. Once it was clear why she was here, what she was doing and what she wanted, the dapper skeleton placed a throughtful, boney hand against his shiny, blank chin and tapped it ponderously with a dainty boney finger.

[color=silver]"If herbs and plants for the creation of concoctions are what you seek, may I suggest looking over there, Miss Alice?"[/colro] The undead man made a sweeping motion with his free arm towards a particular area of the swampy swamp. A small patch of elevated ground, surrounded by the boggy bog, with a water-logged willow tree and a fallen log, sat alone like an island in the ocean. [color=silver]"A lot of the rarer plants and fungus grow there, as that place is a bit out of reach and thus, nobody ever bothers to forage there."[/color] He politely informed, before going on. [color=silver]"But as to strange goings-on, I'm afraid I cannot say. The last thing I recall before being awakened just now was a .. Hmm... I suppose you could call it a shiver? Or perhaps a unpleasat twinge? I do recall that the sky was dark when it happened, and it cannot have eben too too long ago. It felt like someone was trying to... Hm... Grip my mind, if that makes any sense? Apologies, I'm not much help at all it seems."[/color] The skeletal sir explained, told and apologized.

Apparently, it seemd that he didn't have any specific details or information. but he did give at least one tid-bit of information. Someone had been up to something at night, or so it would seem at least. And whatever that someone had been doing, it was strong, or specific, enough to have had an impact and reaction to this poor, submerged gentleman of the quiet wetlands.

[i]Meanwhile...[/i]

"Jeez, Sofers! I told yoooouuuuu! Ghosts don't live in swampy bogs or marshes. They hang out in haunted houses, or old crypts. Or under your bed. Or in your closet. Gah! Enough 'bout that, now you've got [i]me[/i] worried about, Al!" Brandy bemoaned, chiding her comapnion.

Then a proverbial candle lit up above Brandy's head. It seemed the tiny satyr had had an epiphany ! Though in the case of this specific individual, that likely wasn't a good thing.

And it wasn't.

"Well, if you're gonna sink and fall apart if ya step in the muck, the answer's obvious, yeah? Upsy-daisy! Wow, you're lighter than I thought. Maa-haa-haa~!"

In one swift movement, without asking permission, Brandy had scooped the undead archer up into her arms, and was now holding her cold-blooded corpse-companion in her arms, princess-carry style. Good things Brandy was a farm-girl and some strength in those supple arms of hers! Or, not so good, if you were Sofia, who was now being carried around like a newly-wed bride being carried over the threshold...

"Well, let's go find Al, 'kay?" Brandy said, tilting her head and with a huge smile on her face...

Then she leapt over the graveyard fence, and started sprinting at full speed - with the carried Sofia in her arms - towarsd the south and the bog, all the while calling out in an elongated fashion: [i]"We're coming Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal![/i]' As the sound of hooved hoofs clapped on grass, the sound eventually changed to more wet and spluttery noises, as the terrtain changed from grassy field to mucky, watery and wet mud and goopy dirt.

"Aw jeez, I dun wanna get any of this muck on my shirt... Hey, Sofers! Could you like, fold the lower part of my shirt up a bit? I dun wanna stain it, thanks.."  Brandy requested, not stopping at all to make the task any easier or more do-able... And was she really asking Sofia to partially strip her right there and then? Clearly, no shame at all.