Felltree Marsh Hell is truth, seen too late.

The stranger paused. He ignored them and shook off one lion-like paw, then another. The stranger turned and drifted closer but not too close, and he shook his shoulders and the slicked mane that had matted to his neck; it didn't move much, and so he scowled. Revui would need to soak in some clean water if he was going to get through the muck that caked his body.

You are a fighter? — the voice was foreign but confident and clear, and he tried to pivot an ear but it felt weighted and sticky, so Revui had to turn his whole head and shoulders, like some kind of frustrated gargoyle. He snorted, sending a wad of mud back to the mire. I am, he confirmed with a lift of his chin, confident even though he was lost, alone, and looking more ragged than ever before. The red of the blood across his throat is clearly evident - but no wound.