The sand was warm beneath my wet bare feet, the grit settling between my toes with each forward step. The mud attempted to contend with the texture, offering the squish and slime to balance it all out as my walk in turn created more of the combination.
My body was tired and sore with my flesh a little cold from the breeze of the coming rains looming in the distant sky above us. Our squad trudged on, as one by one we hopped out of rafts to the safety of land, bypassing the top part of a rapid only known to us as “The Bad Place,” and continuing on until it was safe to drift away again.
the unscripted wing 