Twisted Slough Into terror, into valor

If he made a wrong move, it was possible to step in to the slick muck and get suctioned down for good - or that's what it felt like. He imagined it would be like stepping in to quicksand; the more he struggled, the worse he'd feel.

But it didn't last that long. The mud wasn't even that bad, really, just wet and cold and everywhere. 

Then, as he struggled to find solid ground, a voice broke through the still spring air — one he hadn't heard in a long time. Along with it came a faint scent that he vaguely recognized; a part of him detected a note in that aroma that made his fur stand on-end down his back.

Moonspear.

Screech turned and pulled himself from the bog with a splash and a squelch, and after a few stomping steps, wheeled around to see Gannet. What?