The fool was stupid. He could not navigate his own mind. Ankle deep in cess, he pressed his wet hand against his forehead and peered out over the vast waste of moisture. With his muddied palm pressed against his furrowed brow, he peered for so long, with such determination, that when he pulled his hand away and relaxed his face, the mud cracked and dropped lightly to the murk in which he stood.
Lifting one of his feet gingerly, he leaned forward to take a step, and collapsed into the swill. Floundering, he sputtered some of the foul liquid in a panic as he noticed wriggling shadows moving all around him.
"Leeches!" His voice echoed, but they were tadpoles. They would metamorphose into frogs, eventually.
The fool did not bother himself with this realization, however. He was on his feet in haste, splashing the water and scattering the tadpoles. His clothes now slopped over his body. He again pressed his hand to his brow, and surveyed the expanse, convinced his appearance of thought would soon yield an answer. Grey drops of water fell from him and danced into the marsh, echoing.