Marisa:
Marisa bends down, looking at a dead tree, scraping it cautiously. An acrid scent wafts up, making her cough. Rotten. "Baja, look at this. It's not natural. Almost like something rotted it from the inside out." she looked at the surrounding area. Everything, everything felt slightly off, like a bag of overripe apples.
"We're getting close," she murmured, half to herself, half to the others. And for the first time, the others can hear a hint of old fear in her voice and see tension as she grips a scimitar unconsciously, almost as if she expects an attack at any moment.