[@Griffintaur]

[i]Seconds slipped by, turning into minutes. Toads groaned, crickets chirped away. The resident wildlife hadn't noticed anything. Somewhere in the distance a tree could be heard snapping. The muffled wing beats of an owl seven yards behind Grif-...

The wing beats were abruptly cut off, as if the owl, after making an untimely and unexpected alteration in its course, had just popped out of reality. Grif could turn around, but he'd be able to feel a clammy tide of nauseous apprehension prickling at his back, and a definite feeling that laying eyes upon whatever it was would have ghastly repercussions. It was all conjecture, pure emotion and instinct, but if it was, then why had the ambiance died? The swamp was silent, save for the rare gurgle of a small sinkhole opening up near the mire. It was waiting for Grif to turn, ready to welcome its guest in a more formal manner, surprise freshly spoiled.[/i]