DragaFlammis

   Delo dashed madly through the cattails while tripping over the occasional rock and slipping through muck made slick by recent rains. After a fourth faceplant, he quit running and rolled over to sit up. His clothes were heavily stained, to the point where their original colors could no longer be determined. Wiping the mud from his face, he awaited his fate that appeared less than bleak. Today just wasn’t his day although it did appear to be his last.   A squishing noise arose, followed by grunts and other odd noises that increased in volume as something slogged through the mud and water after him. He thought he could finally accept h