As I trudge through muddy land
On a hunt within the swamps
I’m exposed to toxic spores
I’m alert of where to step
Yet I’m blind to my sickness
The infection has begun
When the time comes I’ll be dead
Brushing shoulders with my fate
I shrug and continue on
Tracking the prey
Using a corpse as bait
While it starts its daily feast
I approach the mossy fiend
After the swamp creature is dead
I take my reward
In the form of its tendrils
As I end my harvesting
I see that my vision’s blurred
Blacking out in three minutes
I wake after five hours
Waking up I’m met with exhaustion
As I attempt to try and stand up
I now remember to rendezvous with
My own squad to head to the north
