Heron Lake Plateau nervous messed up marionette floating 'round on a prison ship

instinct told him to keep moving. he hadn't wanted to, not until he woke one morning to the memory of a sweet scent which he could not place, and not until that memory sent him down a dark and forbidden path somewhere deep in his mind.
he walked, no, it was more of a trudge. something told him he should search, and yet at the same time he felt as though there was nothing to search for. his wife was gone. he couldn't hear her voice in his head no matter how hard he tried.
he has been here before. how long was he gone?
his path is as aimless as if he were a headless chicken, but he doesn't stop until the treeline breaks and he can see the sun clearly for the first time in weeks. it hurts his eyes. he hisses and moves to growl at it as if that would do anything.
the lake is nice, he decides. it's all about the little things. his footsteps create clouds of russet, and he can feel the pebbles between his toes.
he glances down at his reflection in the lake and realizes that he cannot recognize himself. when had he gotten so old? when had he gotten so tired?
he wished he could take his son here.