Black water rose to Apollo's knees as he pushed through the tangled reeds, each step releasing bubbles of fetid gas that burst around him with soft, wet pops. The city wall still loomed behind them, its torches flickering like angry eyes watching their retreat.
'They hate me now,' Apollo thought, feeling the weight of the others' stares on his back. 'Or worse, they fear me.'
The marsh stretched before them in endless darkness, broken only by the occasional glimmer of moonlight on stagnant pools.
The sounds of pursuit had faded to distant echoes, horns calling to each other across the city battlements, bells marking the progress of search parties. Not gone, but no longer immediate.
"Keep moving," Lyra called from somewhere to his right, her voice tight with barely controlled tension. "They'll widen the search by dawn."
