The first touch of sunlight brought Roderick back to his senses.  His bones and skin ached as they shifted back into place, his clothes nigh unblemished this time.  Henry collapsed where he stood with a rasped, “Mornin’, Rod.”

With night came an oblivion of ignorance and instinct…but the memories had started to string together.  Last night saw no crazed tears through the woods, no vicious hunting of animals. 

I knew him.  I didn’t recognize what Henry was or who he was, but I knew he was the same “thing” that had been following me.

After several weeks of travel, with nightly escapades through the countryside, the other side had finally connected a few dots.  The night before had been the true turning point, and the night just past had proven it—Henry was neither chased nor assaulted, and out of respect for his companion’s fatigue, the monster had slaked its appetite with the barkeep’s generous gift of jerky.

Roderick sighed in relief.  Even if this “noxie” didn’t work out, at the very least, Henry was no longer in mortal danger for the duration of their travels.

Tempted as he was to drop down into the undergrowth with his friend, Roderick pushed aside his exhaustion and hoisted Henry over his shoulders and checked the direction of the sunrise.  They’d tumbled a bit off the path, but no more than several furlongs.  The landscape was relatively unharmed compared to the usual tear he’d wake up to, but there was still a snarled, ragged path clear enough to follow back to the trail proper.

Henry groaned as Roderick shifted him a bit, but soon fell into a deep, exhausted sleep regardless of his position and the awkward gait required to conquer the rough terrain.

The woods thinned the closer he drew to the path, with small brush cleared for basket weaving and fire-starters and berry bushes scavenged clean.  Head aching, throat dry, and stomach painfully empty once more, he walked yet another several furlongs, searching for the promised lake and its old, repurposed abbey.

Splish.

He blinked deliriously and glanced down.

There was water.

Water.

Not even a puddle, simply water, as if he’d quite literally set foot in the lake.  Trees stretched in every direction, high and imperiously thick, and yet so too did the dark, rippling drink at his feet.  Off into the trees, burbling against rocks and shelfs, lazing about roots and fiddling with idle leaves, the expanse appeared suddenly and subtly as magic.

A few yards on, a boat bobbed next to one such waterlogged tree.  Another furlong on, and there was a clearing, with sunlight striking the water with obnoxious levels of shiny cheer.

The noxie lives…here?  A shiver went down his spine. Did the lake flood?

Storms had raged endlessly for weeks, only easing off in the past few days.  What if her home was flooded?  Had she gotten away?  Was she stranded on a spit of high ground with no escape?  Why hadn’t the villagers mentioned any flooding?

Roderick took a deep breath and forged his way to the boat.

Water to his ankles, his calves, his knees, his thighs.  By the time he reached the vessel itself, the water was past his waist.  He nearly tipped the boat as he fumbled the sleeping Henry over its side.

“Urghmmgh…Rod, lemme sleep…”

“Sorry, friend.  There’s no nice way to get you into a boat like this.”

Henry didn’t move to help himself, even when the boat rocked violently as Roderick hauled himself over the side.  One check indicated he’d done little more than sleep-talk; Henry, out cold, slumped over one of the little rowboat’s seats without so much as a groan at the painfully poor position.  With a minute or two spent to arrange their packs beneath the stern and pillow Henry atop the lot, Roderick took the oars and looked about to get his bearings.