A thick mist began to envelope the rear guard of the fishmen. Darkened by the cover of night, the miasma crept slowly. It swirled around the tiny forms of the invading army, like some sort of malevolent omen hugging them. Footsteps broke broke through the quietness of the attacking army, a far cry from their small feet trudging through the grass. The air was... aromatic. A faint sweetness from an unknown flower, that only strengthened as the mist thickened. It eventually felt almost saturated, depriving any who smelt it of their ability to smell. Now much closer, the footsteps seemed almost pronounced with each crunch of the long grass under it. Whoever the source of it was made no attempt to hide their presence.