The deeper we went, the more the woods stank of Freak—rotten meat, unclean flesh, the sickly sweet of a putrid wound. How could they stand each other? But I supposed one got used to anything. When I lived down below, I only noticed the unpleasant smell on bad days, but by contrast, the air Topside smelled of a hundred things—most of them beautiful and fresh as a morning rain.
