Feint knew she should have left Terendum by now. The fog was thick, suffocating - threatening. Her mane stood on end, straining for whatever was making her feel like she was being watched. Nothing showed itself, so the frizzle kept low to the ground, slowly moving out of the territory. There was only silence. She could have taken that as a sign, but before she had the chance, the wisps flickered out around her with the hum of a dirge. Another frizzle leapt onto her back, claws thrust into her eyes. Feint's head writhed without a plan or thought to its motions, and buckling under the other ketucari's weight, she dragged herself forward, paws sinking into the soft, spongy soil, then mud. As her paws gave way into the muck, she and the old swamp witch tumbled backwards over each other into the waters of Terendum. Red murky water flowed before Feint, the changeling blinking away the blood in her eyes now that she'd been freed from the other ketucari's grasp. The swamp-dweller's pale form

The pale pink frizzle huddled into the murk of Terendum, her heart pounding in her chest. Eyes shut to the will o' the wisps around her, she slowly twisted to peer around a gnarled tree, catching her breath in her throat before opening her eyes. There was silence in the wetlands, silence and stillness, the wisps unmoving, the water around them undisturbed. A darkness had set in around the other frizzle in the water. The wisps wouldn't go near her anymore, Feint noticed. It had been several years since the pale 'stranger' had vanished, but surely not enough for her to show such signs of age. Her eyes - dark and sunken like the dead, her skin was visibly wrinkled with time, and her fur was greying and cloudy. Perhaps Feint had just been living the stranger's life too long to remember what life for a mortal would be like in the world of the fae. The stranger - her reflection - had spent far too long around magic, and too long angry. Whatever inherent magic she had left was reflexively