The piercing frequency of the silver whistle vibrated through the dense canopy, leaving a ringing echo that slowly dissolved into the thick white mist of the shallow swampland. Zeven pressed his hand against his throbbing temple, his heavy boots sinking into the dark muck as he pushed deeper into the misty bog. The air here was entirely different from the outer forest ridge, heavily saturated with the suffocating, choking stench of sulfur that rose from the bubbling mire below. Visibility dropped to a mere few yards, the dense grey vapour swirling lazily around the trunks of decaying, ancient trees that rotted in the stagnant water. His crimson eyes scanned the misty horizon, his heightened senses catching the rhythmic sloshing of heavy webbed paws moving rapidly through the hidden channel
