An erling searching for swamp orbs in the twilight, Mitoma

I could hear the erling in the distance for days before I saw it. The formless song of woody notes from its breathing ventricles drifted on the wind as it rooted about somewhere in the brackish fenland, loitering out of sight whenever I climbed a sparch-oak to try and catch it on the move.

At the end of the fourth day, I sat against a cooling sunbrain debating whether I should return to Hersuon, when it suddenly raised its bulk out of the muck metres from my position. I could only gape, fumbling to record images of the intricate erlgrams etched into its legs as it paused, dripping, then lurched off into the sunset.