The swamp was shrouded 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 penetrated 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 Lake Giannitsa? This damp and dark swamp, where they would dwell, amphibians themselves, for days, and weeks, and months... perhaps even die in there?

Slim and light-footed, Apostolis slipped through the plants and reeds, stepping where there was a dry patch, and the men followed him, silent and glum. Shadows rose before them, distinct in the twilight of dawn. They were rebels from the Greek forces confined at the Lake.

Warned, they had come out to greet the newcomers and guide them to the nearest ladder of the swamp. Cheerfully, they reached out and shook hands, exchanged welcome greetings, offered to unload the weary men. The leaders watched them in silence.

These were the warriors of the swamp? These frail, 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.