The landscape was a dreary one, the muddy landscape dotted with small patches of grass and low scrubby trees that grew twisting horizontally rather than up. The ground was largely even, betraying its semi-liquid state, and in places slow sluggish bubbles could be seen oozing to the surface and releasing their noxious contents. The reek that filled the air was vaguely reminiscent of rotten eggs, or possibly corpses. The whole mess was made soggier by the pouring rain, pattering down in torrents that obscured the surroundings in a manner thick as fog. At least there were no puddles, the water managing to mingle in uneven pools of varying consistency throughout the ground.
All in all, the perfect get-away for someone in his kind of mood, or at least Qual thought so. The dark jacket he wore didn't offer much protection from the rain, but at least he had enough forethought not to bring his long-coat on his trek through the swamps, or else it would surely have been ruined. As for his boots, they were done for, but they were an old pair anyways and not one of his favorites. Unfortunately, that also meant that his feet were wet, the swamp mud having contrived to soak through not only his boots but three layers of socks also.
He didn't know why he was here, really, except maybe to sulk. He certainly wasn't going to find any clues as to... to the whereabouts of anyone he was looking for, not in a place like this. She'd been a city-goer, he remembered, and even if she hadn't been, the only places he might collect any information would be civilized ones. She might have survived without help, but her children...
... And yet, he couldn't bring himself to leave. Not yet.