Serpent Lake My thoughts are often not nasty.

The shadow crept along the tiers of stone and wound his way along, flowing from point to point, until there was no more road to follow and only a sheer drop. The rumble of the falls did not dissuade him from getting close to the edge; he stared off of it as if the dire drop was not there, and even raised a limb as if to take further steps. At the last instant the wolf pulled back from the ledge and, swaying more than striding, continued on his way. It was as if his legs had a mind of their own.

From there he found his way down the natural slabs following the water. More than a few of his strides landed him directly in a recessed pool of stagnant water, which rose up and sloshed over the edge as if from a hot bath. The water was cold but not too cold; it roused some kind of awareness from him and kept him going, and then as the wind picked up and he slowly dried off, the resulting chill did the same.

He found a basin at the bottom of the ravine and followed it as it tapered, becoming a series of streams, and then stopped when he found the lake. Unlike the rest of the waterways the lake was still and dark. It was mirror-like, except there was nothing reflecting from its depths; the edges were fringed with the green-black of trees and the wolf could not tell where they started and the lake ended.

After a few minutes the boy blinked, sucking in a breath of pine fresh air, and seemed to come-to. He stood there staring out at the water as a smile slowly fixed upon his face; it wasn't one of mirth or any great humor, and did not change the empty, mannequin-like quality of the rest of him. But it sat there, as he sank back in to the mud of the bank, staring at nothing.