Frogspawn Swamp Some say

The swamp was alive.

The pale woman had long before given up any attempt to keep clean and dry, and now found herself wading through a deeper, clearer part of the swamp. Water rose to her underbelly, and the perpetually wet earth beneath her paws felt like quicksand, soft and pliable. Above her, should she have chosen that moment to set her gaze skyward, she would have noticed the dying colours of a fading sunset, fiery gold, amber and orange, slipping rapidly beneath the horizon. The sun shone through the moss-covered trees of the swamp, casting reaching shadows through the hazy air. 

The last remnants of colour finally leeched from the sky, which in turn became a bloodless grey. Night had not yet fallen fully, the last bit of light and the moonlight lit up the marsh fairly well. She paused in her slow movements, having never seen a marsh by night, and simply let her gaze fall where it may.

I flash of light, hovering, bobbing, blue-green in colour. It was there for a moment, she swore, it's light a soft radiance that reminded her of the sky-lights to the north. But it had been there, dancing, for merely a moment, and she thought she may have imagined it. Again. Another, further away, pale blue in colour this time, and hovering and swaying as the other had. Mesmerised, the silver warrior simply watched it, struck into still silence by the wonder of such lights.  Had she know the true name of this phenomenon, she would have given it it's name; will-o-the-wisps.