Witch's Marsh They don't believe in us, but I believe we're the enemy

Her heart drummed a frantic rhythm in her ears. Mae felt as if she might be sick. She realized all at once that she'd stopped, that she was crouching in the muck sobbing, that Moss's voice was still droning painfully in her ears.

Another voice cut through the haze; not the woman approaching her, for Mae neither saw nor heard her. It was a man. She scarcely understood him, but Moss's voice began to fade, and her sobs turned to relief. She rose from her crouch, gaze fixing somewhere just beyond the woman who had addressed her.

Her eyes went wide, and her lips parted slightly, ears ringing with a name she'd heard once before, though she had no conscious memory of it.

L-Lasher? Mae trembled.

And then she fainted.