Mudma

It hauls its heavy bulk through the deepest swamp, and where the Droople merely oozed, the Mudma seizes, wrapping prey in cold weed-wound limbs and dragging it under into the peat. It can compact its muddy body hard enough to strike like a club or loosen it to pour through a gap, a versatility that makes it dangerous in the close, root-tangled dark it favors. It sinks fully beneath the bog through the daylight hours, indistinguishable from the marsh, and rises at dusk with a slow sucking groan that the people of Pawbury have long since learned means it is time to be indoors.