Witch's Marsh Don't you remember when you were young, and you wanted to set the world on fire?

What was he doing? Everything was falling apart; Glaukos sloshed a few more angry steps through the marsh before finally reaching some sort of limit. The stranger beyond him—and he recognized now it wasn't Fiona, just some girl—shouted a threat and flashed her teeth, but Glaukos had already recognized the futility of the exchange and wasn't even watching her.

Forget it. He wasn't taking orders from anyone anymore.

Glaukos pulled at one of his muddied limbs and felt the tug of muddy suction. As he resigned himself to his fate as a bog beast for the time being, he was forced to take a breath. His lungs pulsed as he stood there panting and angry; the fur along his spine remained serrated where it wasn't slick with marsh grime.

He stared off at the faraway mountains which loomed; then he swung his head north to stare at the hazy red band of color lingering there, which was the Maplewood. As he drew one more step free, then another, Glaukos began to escape the hold of the mud.

If he meandered towards Swiftcurrent he neither noticed or cared.