Night in the marsh is not a dragon. It is wet, dark, and long.

You do not drown on-page. You sit on a hummock that lies a little less, and a heron makes a noise like a bad hinge. Dawn: a herdsman finds you, calls you eleven kinds of fool without swearing, and points at Crow’s Oak as if it had not been there the whole time.

No badge. Feast missed. Shortcut was a story reeds tell to feet.

You walk out looking like a rumor. Pernell would give you pottage. Osric would give you the pole. You take the ridge next time, or you are not listening yet.

The herdsman’s dog is not impressed. Dawn makes the oak obvious, which is rude of it. You walk out with a story you will not tell as a triumph. Pernell’s pottage, someday, will not ask where you slept. Osric’s pole will.

THE END

What you learned: marsh “paths” lie. Waymarks and itineraries exist because reeds look like corridors. A shortcut that erases landmarks can erase the feast.