Witch's Marsh haunt

mud squelched underfoot once more as lestan pressed reluctantly onward with a heavy sigh. he didn't want to show up at the creek — golden wings! flashing! cutting through his mind! —
he flinched, and winced, and blinked rapidly as his eyes settled on two figures. one was solemn and the other quite round. lestan tentatively drew closer. "hello!" he called across the marsh, stopping in sodden tracks. "i-i'm l-looking for s-someone. an old w-woman."
lestan wet his lips. she certainly was round — no. pregnant.
her name filled his mind and the whirring of yellow wings sickened the mayfair.
"s-she steals c-children!" he called with more despairing desperation. "i h-have to f-find her!"