The growing sense of panic within her was rapidly becoming near-impossible to fight down. She may have been sentient, but she was still a prey animal, and one of the strongest instincts she possessed was to flee. Her blue eyes cast about the swamp, ears swiveling one way to catch a hint of distant speech, then quickly turning again as something clicked and chittered. Something moved underhoof, causing her to dance and snort, clamping her jaws together to avoid crying out. For some reason, she was afraid to make a sound in the marsh, afraid to add her own timid voice to the cacophony of calls and shrieks in the underbrush. She almost worried it would alert something to her presence. From someone else's point of view, someone who was aware of the creatures that already watched her, it was almost laughable.

She cast a doubtful look backwards at the dark woods behind her. No way she could pick her way through that again. Was the worst of the bog behind her? Wishful thinking, she thought with a grimace before looking at the divergent path (at least she hoped it was a path and not a patch of quicksand) before her. Something chittered again, and she jumped. Was that some sort of bug? What kind of insect even sounded like that? Aryel hated venomous insects. Hated them with a passion. Bees could leave her paralyzed in terror, and spiders skittered on the ground sent her skittering in the opposite direction. She did that now, taking the path that seemed farthest from the creepy bug sounds in a tentative walk, her hoofbeats too conspicuous in her mind. She wanted nothing more than to break into a gallop and run blindly, fully surrendering to the animal terror that threatened to overwhelm her. She resisted. Just barely. If she lost control here, it would be almost certain death.

Even as she walked away from the animal noises, the chilling whispers and laughs that hung in the back of her mind plagued her. Once or twice she thought she saw something pale flitting through the trees in the distance, and shadows seemed to hang in the corners of her vision, moving and twisting out to reach her until she turned her head to look directly at the spot. Was she just imagining things, or was this place really...

No. There was no such things as ghosts. No such thing, no such thing, she repeated in her mind, trying to block out the noises. For a moment, her posture resumed it's usual cocky carriage, but then a bubble of swamp gas burped quietly in a nearby pool and she flinched again. Was she even going the right way? The swamp couldn't last forever...right?

(The clicking pincers you mentioned sort of remind me of the chaurus from Skyrim :p

Got insectophobia?)

Walk walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk talk."