The path became muddy. Morg squelched on, trying to keep to the firm grass hillocks, jumping from tussock to tussock. Her shoes were made of thin leather, and they were soon soaked. The path had disappeared into a bog. Morg hesitated and looked around. The trees were thinning. She could see the beginnings of a stream, and maybe a clearing. She took a step, and went in up to her knee. She nearly lost hold of the piglet. She pulled out her leg. It was coated in thick, stinking mud.