“There’s a ribbon of solid ground here. Follow the mushrooms. They need something solid to grow on, since they’re eating burrow-things that died.” The words were transmitted directly to Peixoto’s mind; the bone familiar that the magician had constructed remained perched silently on his shoulder.

It was useful advice, very astute, and at the homunculus’s urging Peixoto picked his way through the swamp, with only one wet boot from a missed step where he’d mistaken a plucked and floating mushroom for solid ground.

“How did you know that?” said Peixoto.

The bone golem hopped from one foot to the other. “It is how my flesh was taken, and I remember it well.”

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