The marsh was covered in thick fog. The air was heavy with fumes and the stench of decaying grass. The ground was wet, muddy, sticking to their feet. The humidity and cold seeped into their bones. The men moved slowly, somewhat discouraged. Low plants and reeds blocked their path. The leaders fell silent, gritting their teeth.

So this was the Lake of Giannitsa? This wet and dark swamp, where they, amphibians themselves, would dwell for days, weeks, and months... perhaps even die within it? Slender and light-footed, Apostolis slipped through the plants and reeds, stepping only where there was a dry patch, and the men followed him, silent and glum.

Shadows rose before them, discernible in the twilight of dawn. They were rebels from the Greek troops confined to the Lake. Alerted, they had come out to receive the newcomers and guide them to the nearest ladder of the swamp. Joyfully, they reached out and shook hands, exchanged greetings, and offered to unload the weary men.

The leaders looked at them in silence. Were these the warriors of the swamp? These thin, yellowish human shadows? Would they fight the Bulgarians alongside them? Would they soon become like them? Apostolis had already struck up a conversation with one of the men.