Heron Lake Plateau your shadow weighs a ton

Sleep felt so strange these days — so short, and giving the distinct impression that something should be happening each time he woke up. Some semblance of a routine had set in; he knew to expect the golden girl's absence in the morning, sometimes a visit in the midday, and always an early rest at night. She fed him. He was watered. Much like a seed which had been laid to rest in the soil, he was tended to — and slowly, maybe he was recovering. It didn't feel right, though. The visits from Niamh's doppleganger became so common that his anxiety began to lessen, and even when Raven would visit, the boy had grown complacent.

He hadn't spoken yet, which was a drastic change from before the accident. It was possible that speech would never return to him — but there was time. At least now he could eat, he could drink, he could sometimes sleep (in firts and starts, no more than a few minutes at a time), and with the constant attention of the others, his body had begun showing signs of proper health. He had more energy - which is what prompted another change, a vital one.

The humid summer was hardly inviting, but the beaming sun was too warm, and being stuck in the would-be grave only served to dehydrate the body he inhabited. With a few awkward attempts out of the way, the boy piloted Screech's body out of the opening of the den. He sagged beneath a nearby tree as soon as he was able. It took too much effort and thoroughly exhausted him, but at least he had been able to move — to find shade, out where the summer breeze could tousle his graycast coat. 

After a few glances at the deep and shifting shadows, he realized he didn't know what to do next, and was stranded.