Just as hopelessness threatened to consume me, the boy let out a ragged gasp, water spilling from his purple lips. I helped him to his side, my hand rhythmically patting his back, aiding him in purging the cold river from his lungs.

I glanced toward the shoreline and saw a large gathering of people. Many clutching their chest or sides, even doubled over, gasping for air. I knew the feeling.

There were even some atop horses. Beautiful creatures, with their dark coats shimmering in the golden hour glow.

Something seemed out of place about all of them.

What are they wearing? I wondered as I stared at them standing on the shore.

Looking down, I noticed that the boy was wearing something similar. Its peculiarity lay not just in how dated the clothing was, but in its cheaply looking material.

A man with unruly curly red hair dismounted from his horse and strode toward the river’s edge. He wore what I could only imagine was some knock-off Robin Hood costume. It didn’t help that he stood with his hands on his hips, water sloshing over his leather ankle boots, looking at us.

He turned and grabbed a rope from his horse, then called out to the others on horseback, who followed his lead. They tied the rope to the saddle of one of the horses and flung the other end toward me.

It slipped by the first time, but I caught it midair on the second attempt. He shouted out instructions that I couldn’t make out, though I wasn’t really trying hard to comprehend. I had already guessed what they wanted me to do with the rope, so I tied it around myself and the boy, then submerged back into the icy water with care.

The river immediately pulled us away, but the rope went taut around us, and I watched as the men led the horse away. The red-haired man and his men pulled on the rope as well, quickly extricating us from the dangerous waters.

As soon as our feet touched the rocky banks, a stocky man rushed and pulled the boy out of my arms. I couldn’t understand the words that he was speaking, but I understood the tears that were streaming down his tanned cheeks. A little girl rushed forward, too. She was the only other child amongst the crowd. The rest must have been ushered back home in order to prevent another ordeal.

Pain started to register now. New pain that had momentarily overpowered the original pains. I felt the anabolic acid building up in my calves, and the stitch on my right side. I wasn’t looking forward to when they all ganged up on me in the following days. But the pain wouldn’t subdued by my curiosity with the strangers standing before me.

The crowd was primarily composed of men. They sported trousers that ended at their ankles, paired with what looked like blouses, under vests made of leather or some other coarse material. Those who were atop the horses, though, were dressed slightly better, but just as peculiar-looking. They looked like they were dressed for a Renaissance Faire. Except for the redhead, who was the only one dressed as he was, clearly the main character.

Then it all clicked.