The Nature flight is famous for its Viridian Labyrinth.
A dragon could get lost there forever.
She was lost there, once.

It's beautiful but dangerous, deep in the realm of Nature.
Here, your sense of direction disappears in a sea of green.
The rustling of leaves and the damp earth beneath your feet stretch on without end.
That good earth will take your bones, and leave nary a trace.

Not all flowers are meant to be smelled.
Delicate ferns and dangling fronds are poison to the unwitting.
Living plants grapple and leech, drawing rich nutrients from unwilling fertilizer.
This is the side of Nature that few ever see:
Wild. Feral. Undomesticated.

Here, a younger Bogsneak lost her way.
Sure of the benevolence of Nature, she wandered too deep into the viridis.
The forest swallowed her. Only part of her emerged.
She knows now the dangers of the Labyrinth. She knows the safe paths, and the deadly ones.
She knows that Nature was never meant to be tamed.

She makes her home in the Worldedge Wetlands, that swampy landscape in which soil vanishes into murky depths.
Here, the foliage smells of both life and rot, growth and decay.
The wetlands are full of contradictions.

She knows every animal which walks these lands. It was they who taught her how to survive.
She learned from the birds, from the otters, the panthers and the rats.
Most of all, she learned from the gators.
She learned what was safe to eat. What places were safe to tread. Where she could sleep without fear of predator taking her in the night. The berries and herbs that would bring down her fever, the waters that would cause sickness, the foliage that would rise up and attack.
Watching taught her how to survive.
She's more animal than dragon, now.

But she still remembers the Bogsneak who lost her way, the overconfident dragon who did not survive the swamp.
There's a scrap of pity in her cold, reptilian heart.
And when she finds another dragon - lost, wary, and unsure - she offers her aid.
She doesn't speak. She doesn't remember how. The only language her lips know is the cry of birdsong, the hissing of serpents, the roar of a predator catching its prey.
But she'll share what she's learned, in her own way, to those willing to watch.
To those willing to learn from Nature as she has.

She's a part of the Wetlands, now.
Wild. Feral. Undomesticated.
Motivated by food and survival.
She sinks deep beneath the swampy waters, only her eyes and snout breaching the water amongst her gator kin.

But if you're lost, if the realm of Nature has swallowed you whole, she will help.
Through the swamps that attempt to steal you, inch by inch, step by step, she will guide you.
She knows the way.