shaking the wings of their terrible youths

The reedy marsh before Caiaphas was dark, and rife with black puddles of depths unfathomable. Virulent green moss sprung forth from flat wells of water and the entire swamp, however healthy, reeked of decay.

She could traverse the span of wetland if she kept close to the slippery rocks that poked from the marsh -- underfoot the muck was treacherous and she wondered if any of the seemingly sleepy waters were in fact bogs unnavigable. She was just about to gingerly hop from her first stone when a low voice ominous and somewhat defensive sounded from behind her.

Caught quite in the open (yet having no intention of trespassing) Caiaphas turned to peer awkwardly at the male who hailed her -- her expression bland at best. "Am I?" She queried airily, as if some vapid animal incapable of possessing any semblance of common sense.