Not so far away, Kyrie saw fog rising from the ground, a hot stream creating a pervasive "smell" of hot water, along with the scent of rotting and wet wood.
Gertrud stopped in her tracks. "This is the closest I'm willing to get to the steaming lakes. I'm not suicidal enough to enter that area with you. I wish you good luck; I will be waiting for your return here."
"Given I will face crocodiles in their turf, you are right. Don't worry about not coming with me. Worry about how we will drag their corpses back to the pack's grounds." With a wide smile, Kyrie takes out the sword from the barrel and places the barrel on the ground.
Sword in hand, the young man rushed in the direction of the steaming lake. "Don't worry about me; I will be back in a second!" Like an excited child, Kyrie crossed the mist in an instant, never letting his pace slow down or worry about the muddy ground giving way to the water underneath it with each step he took.
