The river was perfect in the spring. After all snow had melted down from the hilltops and flooded the banks, they turned a mushy mud consistency, perfect for playing it. But Ginseng was not a foolish Mistling! He had made sure the swelled, throbbing currents had stopped long ago, keeping only the area to play and catch worms and other bugs from.
There he was now. Squish! Squish! Squish! Went the mud, oozing with the most peculiar feeling through the little purple Mistling's toes. He laughed to himself softly, his short bob-tail wiggling in pleasure of the sensation. "This will be here till summer, at least." He figured, giving his antlered head a brief bob. "Good. Because it's always too hot in summer." It had snowed enough this year to keep the river going, which in turn seeped the bank into gooshy wet earth. The only problem was when autumn came upon them, making the mud too cold to slush through to reach water. But that was a problem. A problem for another season, for that matter.
He would think of it when the autumn came.
