Comfort

"Fuckin' mosquitoes here are the size of donkey balls!"

Sebastian clapped in front of his face and caught one of the buzzing insects that were responsible for the red marks on his exposed forearms. They were crossing a marshy swampland that stretched out endlessly beyond their sights.

All of them were in a foul mood save for the avian who had flown ahead and was perched upon a tree, free from the stinky filthy mud and the noisy bloodsuckers that were engorged with blood.

"Magnus, can you turn it down?" Alka asked the fire mage whose skin flickered with flames. The air was already hot and sticky enough without Magnus adding to it with his fire.

"Can't do," he returned. "It's the only way to keep the mosquitoes off me."

"You'll blow us all up," Lucien dryly told him. "When a bubble of concentrated flammable gas escapes and we're unlucky enough to encounter it, say goodbye to your skin."