Disgusting... I like it. [Solo]

If Grub were to rate the territory that bathed in shadow, he would give it two paw pads down. The ground went beyond wet and directly into muddy, mushy, and unlivable. The cat he had fought here months ago had been so angry about him tresspassing, but what exactly was there to be territorial over? Mud baths? He chuckled to himself over that one.

As he picked up one paw only to lose another to the marshland's, he couldn't help but feel his skin crawl: the closer he got to the (extrememly obvious location) of the Swamp Clan camp, the rotten bodies of long dead rats brushed against him. Some had huge chunks taken out of them, while others seemed to have drown here trying to brave the mischievous puddles.

It was no better by the time he arrived at the dried brambles and thorny entrance that held the treasure he sought: the coveted camp that held an unknown amount of cats.

He was well aware there would be no one here. You'd have to be a major fool not to have heard the stampede of felines heading towards the massive pile of stones that held the really pretty and sparkly one. He liked that stone. Couldn't for the life of him understand why cats would venture into every now and again with a child in tow. A ritual? Sacrifice...? His whiskers twitched, amused. He would have to find out one of these days.

Anyway, what was important was that the forest cats had abandoned their homes for reasons unknown to him. The marshes would be his first visit, then perhaps Thunder and Wind, leaving River as the very last. He would take his time with that one.

A silent thanks was said under his breath to Rose - the molly who concocted whatever mush was plastered on his missing ear - as the brambles dragged his pelt from head to tail as he pushed through the broken entrance.

He was barely inside when his paw stepped on something disgustingly squishy. For the first time since leaving the road and entering the swamps, Grub chose to wait and listen for any sign of movement. Yellow eyes danced around the clearing, expecting to see the biggest beast he had ever laid eyes on....

Only to be met with an eery silence. While he wasn't entirely alone, he was the only living soul: dozens upon dozens of rat corpses littered the ground where they were either crushed, or missing parts. The smell was awful, but Grub was a tom who dared leap into the foulest of dumpsters and the occasional mysteriously thick puddle. "Oh, to hear the story on this one!" He exclaimed to the corpses, his excitement making his whiskers shudder. Every day was a new opportunity to learn, huh?

Tip-toeing through the carnage, he picked the most interesting of places first: a large, jagged rock and the cave that sat inside it.

...Though it was rather boring.

His next victim was the chewed up bunch of twigs that seemed to make up some sort of nursery, the only thing catching his interest there were balls of moss that distracted him for almost half an hour, batting it back and forth, chasing it across the camp to yet another cave with dried vines acting as curtains.

The smell of stale herbs - much like the ones plastered on his wounded head - lead him into the incredibly dark cavern. Taking every opportunity to stick his nose where it didn't belong, he rightfully earned one of the biggest scares of his life: the head of a one-eyed badger meeting him face to face. Greasy, slicked back fur somehow stood on end as he arched his back and hissed, throwing out a few claws in its direction. To his surprise, the badger keeled over and... deflated? Braving losing his other ear, the rogue leaned forward and batted at it. "Curious..." His fur relaxed. That was no badger! Well, it used to be a badger, but this was nothing but it's skin. It was equally terrifying and impressive.

He would be taking it.

With pelt slipped over flea-bitten body, he nosed about the rest of the dens, finding nothing as interesting as his newly prized pelt other than a few smoothed pebbles and stray feathers that looked chewed on by the long dead pests. He had picked this place clean of anything worthwhile--

Jingle

Stepping over a nest knocked loose a tiny bell, well polished and clearly treasured. He smiled as he batted it to and fro, enjoying the little chime it made. Mr. Worm used to have a collar like this when he was a young tom, the sound always lulling a rambunctious mottled kitten to sleep all those years ago. This would also be coming home with him.

Now he had found everything worthwhile within this mess of a camp that he very much enjoyed.

He marked every corner of this place before leaving, the only sounds being the sloshing of paws in mud and the sweet chime of a single bell.