Whoever said the real treat was the journey and not the destination, had likely never spent a week wading through Hayborthien crap.
Jaes had plugged her nose with strips of cloth on day one, but she could still smell the sickly-sweet stench. The yellow sludge was everywhere. It sloshed into her boots and coated her thighs with every step.
At nightfall they climbed into the bleached trees and prayed a sleepy turn wouldn’t dump them into the muck below.
Daav had chosen this lovely, surreptitious route, and Jaes might have murdered him if it didn’t mean more to carry.
(Written for The Prediction. Challenge words: destination, plug, surreptitious)