The Murky Mire

The city may be paradise, but a cesspool isn't much farther away. On the south side of the cold river's end, mangled stone teeth trap water in a stagnant levy whose thick scent could overpower a huge helping of mutton from right under your nose. Your tan flesh is kissed with mud as you trudge through the odorous swamp to the creaking of insects and croaking of amphibians and bubbling of who-knows-what under the green water, all the while the city may sometimes be seen just out of view through the grimy trees and bumpy boulders, proud to ignore this land that nobody wants.