Winnie and I stared at the muck monkey like two children destined for legend, even though anyone watching from the outside would assume we were destined for a bath, a scolding, and maybe a lecture titled Why You Should Never Enter Swamps Without Adult Supervision. The creature rose from the swamp like a mythic beast born of mud and misfortune. Its whole body slurped upward with the enthusiasm of someone trying to escape a bathtub drain, and when its dripping arm lifted into the foggy air, it looked almost regal.

  Almost.

  Then it flung a glob of swamp muck with all the ferocity of a dying goose.

  The glob slapped onto a nearby tree with a wet squelch. It slid down so slowly it felt like the tree itself had given up on dignity.

  It smelled awful.

  Winnie gagged so hard she bent at the waist. "That smells like shit. Like real shit."

  Greta nodded solemnly, as if imparting ancient wisdom. "That is because it is."

  The muck monkey screeched proudly, chest puffed out like a hero returning from battle. If heroes threw fecal matter.

  Winnie lifted her shield and whispered, "Runt. We are going to die. And we are going to die smelling like swamp shit. And people will remember us like that. I do not want that legacy. I wanted a legacy where I die holding a hammer the size of Greta."

  "We are not dying," I said, even though my voice cracked like a twig under a cart. "It is me who has to fight it. You do not have to do this."

  Winnie grinned, fiercely. "Yeah, I do. I said I would help you. We are friends. Dwarves do not break promises." She thumped her tiny chest proudly, splattering mud in a perfect arc around her.

  "Besides," I said. "Nobody dies to a muck monkey. They are basically sentient puddles with anxiety."

  She charged.

  Her boots hit the mud with the confidence of someone who believed wholeheartedly in the stability of the ground.

  The ground betrayed her immediately.

  She got three heroic steps in before both feet shot forward like the swamp had decided to reject her existence. She slid across the bog on her stomach, arms flailing, creating a majestic wave of filth behind her.

  The muck monkey clapped.

  Greta laughed so loudly a flock of swamp birds took off in alarm.

  I ran after Winnie, shield raised, trying to look like a fearless warrior instead of a panicked toddler in a bog. The swamp, however, had no intention of letting me win anything.

  My foot hit the same slick patch. I spun sideways, arms windmilling, crashed through a thorny bush, bounced off another bush, and finally landed flat on my back.

  The bush broke my fall. I did not break the bush at least. That felt like progress.

  Winnie pushed herself upright, hair so caked in mud it formed a perfect, horrible helmet.

  "This swamp is cursed," she declared with the certainty of religion.

  The muck monkey threw another glob.

  She tried to block it with her shield.

  It splattered across her entire face.

  She spat mud. "It got in my mouth! My mouth! My tongue is burning!"

  Greta shouted, "Stop talking while things are flying at your face!"

  "Things are always flying at my face!" Winnie shouted back.

  The muck monkey hopped in place like this was the best entertainment it had witnessed since its creation. And for all I knew it probably was.

  Winnie, fueled by righteous fury, grabbed a fallen log large enough that physics should have objected. She hefted it overhead with dwarven determination.

  "Runt! I am going to pancake it!" she announced.

  "Good!" I yelled, ignoring every instinct that screamed that this strategy was questionable.

  She charged again.

  The swamp rejected her again.

  Her foot hit a root, she pitched forward, spun like a drunken top, and swung the log with desperate chaos. The log whooshed past the muck monkey by an entire child’s length and slammed into the mud hard enough to send muck flying high into the air.

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  Winnie landed sitting upright again, limbs splayed in all directions.

  The muck monkey waddled forward and slapped her mud helmet with another handful of muck.

  Winnie blinked. Then slowly, with great seriousness, said, "It is insulting me. It is doing that on purpose."

  I charged to defend her honor. My shield struck the monkey’s side with a mighty clang.

  It did nothing.

  Absolutely nothing.

  The muck monkey wobbled like a bowl of angry pudding.

  Then it turned toward me and flung more muck.

  I ducked. The glob shot over my head, hit Greta’s boot with perfect precision, and burst like a rotten pumpkin.

  Greta stared at her boot.

  "Monkey," she said softly, "that was a mistake."

  The muck monkey froze.

  Winnie froze.

  I froze because everyone else froze.

  Winnie struggled to her feet. Mud dripped from her braids like swamp icicles.

  "Okay. I am done slipping. I am done choking. And I am absolutely done being hit by shit." She hefted the log like a divine weapon. "Runt, help me flank it!"

  I nodded gravely. "Right!"

  We began circling the muck monkey, attempting to intimidate it. Unfortunately, the effect was ruined by the fact that every third step one of us nearly fell over and that we were covered head to toe in mud.

  The muck monkey panicked.

  It scooped up double handfuls of muck, forming two colossal sludge-bombs.

  Winnie shouted, "It is going to hit me again!"

  My tiny heart thundered. I saw the attack charging. I saw Winnie stuck knee-deep in the mud. I saw doom.

  "Winnie, move!" I shouted.

  "I cannot! My boot is in swamp jail!" she wailed.

  The muck monkey launched the sludge right at her.

  I ran.

  I ran like a three-year-old possessed by destiny.

  My legs churned. My shield came up. I slipped, recovered, slipped again, screamed inside my soul, and dove.

  "I cast shield!" I roared.

  The sludge slammed into my shield with the force of a particularly annoyed cow.

  The impact flipped me headfirst into the bog.

  Everything became cold, dark, and aggressively swamp-flavored.

  Behind me, Winnie let out a massive roar that could have split mountains.

  She swung the log.

  It connected with a sound that could only be described as "splorch," followed by a resigned groan from the monkey.

  The muck monkey collapsed into a defeated heap of mud, surrendering its existence and leaving behind a single shiny tin core.

  Winnie hoisted the log overhead and bellowed, "Victory! Glory to Clan Neckhammer! Glory to Runt!"

  Greta walked over, grabbed me by the ankles, and yanked me out of the mud like she was unearthing a root vegetable.

  I emerged upside-down, dripping from every possible surface, smelling like a swamp had personally chosen me as its ambassador.

  Greta laughed so hard she nearly dropped me back into the hole she had just pulled me from.

  Winnie stomped over proudly. Her face was caked in mud, her hair was a mud helmet, her soul was probably filled with mud, but her teeth still shone bright.

  "Runt! We beat it! We did it! Together!"

  I spat out swamp water. "I noticed."

  The core glimmered in the mist.

  Winnie lifted the log like a holy relic. Greta wiped tears from her eyes.

  And that was how two children waged an epic battle against a creature made entirely of muck.

  It was glorious.

  It was stupid.

  It was perfect.

  But the swamp was not finished with us.

  As the echoes of Winnie's triumphant bellow faded into the mist, the bog let out a long, gurgling slurp. Not a dangerous one. More like the sound a swamp makes when it wants attention, as if the land itself were offended by the fact that two tiny idiots had just achieved victory on its soil.

  Winnie planted her feet and turned. "Do not even start with me, swamp. I will fight you too. I have a log and no mercy."

  The bog bubbled politely, which somehow made it worse.

  Greta wiped her eyes, still laughing. "You two are unbelievable. I have never seen so much mud on someone so small. It’s like you tried to wrestle the whole swamp."

  Winnie puffed out her chest proudly. "Clan Neckhammer has many skills. Mud wrestling is one of them."

  I was still dangling upside-down in Greta’s grip like laundry waiting to dry. "Can I be right-side up now?"

  Greta obliged, lowering me carefully onto relatively solid ground. I immediately sank three inches into the mud.

  Winnie snorted. "Swamp has chosen you, runt. You belong to it now."

  I tried to lift one foot. The swamp refused. "Help."

  Winnie grabbed my arm and pulled. She hauled, grunted, slipped backward, fell on her butt, and splashed mud in all directions.

  The muck monkey’s corpse pile jiggled, as if amused.

  Finally, with one mighty heave, I popped out of the mud like a cork firing from a bottle. I flew forward, bounced off Greta’s leg, and slid across a patch of sludge with all the dignity of an overturned hammer turtle.

  Winnie cackled. "That was majestic."

  Greta shook her head. "That was something."

  I wiped mud off my face. "Is the fight over? Are we done?"

  Winnie pointed to the tin core. "No! We have to claim the spoils!"

  Greta nodded. "She is right. That is yours, runt."

  Winnie grinned. "We can split the glory. You get the shiny thing and also fifty percent of the bragging rights."

  "Only fifty?" I asked.

  "I actually killed the thing." She said arms crossed.

  "Fair point." I replied.

  Winnie approached the puddle of former monkey with reverence, like she was about to collect some ancient sacred relic. She reached in, grabbed the core, and held it up dramatically.

  It gleamed beautifully despite being surrounded by filth.

  Winnie gasped. "Runt… it is pretty. Almost as pretty as my cousin’s beard when he oils it."

  Greta made a face. "That is not the comparison you think it is."

  Winnie opened my hand and placed the core in to my palm. "We should display it. We should have a parade. We should walk back to the city and everyone should cheer."

  "Nobody is going to cheer for us covered in mud," I said.

  "Then we will cheer for ourselves," she said, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Hooray! Hooray for Runt the Wizard!"

  Greta burst into laughter again.

  The swamp, not to be outdone, let out another long, wet belch.

  Winnie glared at it. "You stay quiet. We already won. No rematches."

  When she finally stop glaring at the swamp, she turned to me and said. "All right. Enough theatrics. We still have a quest to finish and one more snail to find before Myrda mocks us for being slow."

  Winnie hoisted the log onto her shoulder like it was a treasured heirloom. "This is my weapon now."

  "You are not bringing that back to the guild hall," Greta said.

  "Try and stop me." Winnie said.

  She began trudging proudly through the swamp with the enormous log, leaving deep, chaotic footprints behind her. She looked like the world’s angriest, muddiest warrior-child.

  I hurried after her, slipping twice before managing to catch up.

  Greta followed last, shaking her head with a smile she could not hide.

  And thus, the three of us, one dwarf, one runt, one instructor, marched deeper into the swamp like conquering heroes who had just slain a mighty foe.

  In reality, we had fought a monkey made of mud.

  But legends have to start somewhere.

  And ours started ankle-deep in poop water.