Hours later, with dusk fast approaching, Ian accepted that he was good and thoroughly lost. He powered on his phone several times as he’d hiked, hoping to get even one bar to check his location or make a call. No such luck availed him. Even more troubling, he still hadn’t found a source of water. That was rapidly becoming more important than anything else.

Under normal circumstances, he could rely on his trusty Wilderness Scout experience. He could use it to identify deer or critter tracks and follow those to find a source of water. And approximately zilch about today fell under normal circumstances.

The few prints that he did find looked as though they belonged in the cryptozoological exhibit at the local Tin-Foil Hat Society. Nothing was recognizable, and it was starting to make Ian uncomfortable. The larger tracks though, the ones with the claws, they were the most unsettling.

“Probably those Bigfoot hoaxers,” Ian muttered, “Yeah, that’s it. Out in the middle of the woods, where no one will ever see their handiwork.” He let out a nervous chuckle at his joke. He trudged on knowing that as long as he could still be sarcastic, things couldn’t be all that dire.

The dense forest canopy had long since hidden the mountain peak, and sun, from sight, leaving him guideless. The underbrush grew denser as he walked, and now constantly snagged at his feet. The mere act of walking became a challenge as every trip sent a jolt of pain through his broken arm. His sense of unease, compounded by alien bird calls and predatory growls of the forest, grew until it bordered on paranoia. Even the rustle of wind through the leaves sounded wrong.

“I’m not afraid, I’m just… concerned,” Ian said reassuringly to the voice in his head. A voice which was busy explaining to him all the reasons he should be terrified.

He avoided the strange hopscotching clawed tracks for concern of coming across the owner. His dry mouth and injured arm, however, were overtaking his concerns. He could feel the skin starting to crack around his lips and the aching dryness in his throat as he tried to swallow and couldn’t. For the first time in his life, Ian understood true thirst. A savage staccato pounded rang his head as another hour ticked by. He had to find water soon.

Just a little while longer, he blindly promised his weary body. Frustrated Ian stopped, closed his eyes tight, and spun around slowly until he no longer had any sense of his previous direction. He performed another spin and when he felt a tug in his gut he opened his eyes.

He walked straight towards the tug, hoping this choice would turn his luck around, and would not be the last one he ever made. As if on cue, an invigorating breeze burst through the trees. The leaves rustled as though they were applauding his efforts. And behind the applause the wind brought with it the sweetest of sounds, the gentle lapping of water against a shore. He pressed on, moving towards the glorious sound with renewed hope and determination.

Ian stumbled through the underbrush, using his walking stick to beat a path through the confounding brambles. The foliage broke into a clearing, revealing the veritable oasis within. A perfectly round lake with a thin strip of muddy shoreline encircling it.

He knew that he should take the time to start a fire and boil the water, but he favored the potential health risks to passing out. He moved toward the edge of the water and fell to his knees with a wet smack. Perhaps it was the water’s clarity or lack of garbage floating along the shore, but he felt certain it was safe to drink. Using his good arm, he plunged a hand into the cool water and brought it to his lips.

Ian’s eyes went wide as the water hit his tongue. It was sweet, cool, and instantly made him feel better. He drank greedily from the lake, unable to control himself. Every mouthful made the pounding rhythm in his head recede, and rejuvenated his strength. He let out a chuckle of relief, which slowly shifted into a mad cackle. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. While Ian was busy slaking his thirst, the setting sun had cast everything in the deep purple shades of twilight.

The primal aversion to darkness crept into his mind, the sense of desolation, and the sense of utter vulnerability. The shadows took on monstrous shapes, and every sound became a menacing threat. He insisted that it was all in his head, all a trick of the light. Still, he knew he needed to find somewhere to rest for the night that wasn’t so exposed.

He dipped his hands into the lake a few more times, all the while keeping an eye on the deepening shadows. The loud snap of a branch came from his right, and Ian decided that his thirst was sufficiently quenched. He stood slowly while his hand slapped against his hip, and flicked open the catch on his holster. He moved away from the water spinning to face the forest.

No bird calls, no cricket chirps, no critters rustling in the underbrush. The sounds of the night should have been coming alive, but he heard only the gentle lapping of water. It could only mean one thing: a predator was near. And he became acutely aware of the fact that he was in no condition to fight. He pulled his pistol free of the holster with a shaky hand, and tried to get a fix on this phantom presence.

Gradually he became aware of a gentle, melancholy voice. The sound had started as little more than a whisper, but grew until Ian was certain a young woman was singing to him. An achingly beautiful melody which soothed his fearful mind. Some part of him, the primal need to survive part, realized there was a danger in the song, but by then music had taken hold. The song drowned out the voice of reason in favor of placation.

His hand moved on its own, sliding the pistol back into its holster. He felt a sense of tranquility settle over him and a drunken smile spread over his face. The water… Ian thought as he took a sluggish step forward. The water would reveal all if he simply stepped into its cool, soothing embrace. He swayed his head in silent compliance with the song.

Yes, the water will show me the way home. It will help me save Anders. There’s still time, but only if I go right now.

Below the glassy surface, the outline of a woman shimmered into being. Her long, silky, ebony hair flowed and swayed in a way that defied the lake’s current. The locks weaved a tantalizing, and hypnotic pattern. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the beautiful display. Somewhere his mind registered the alluring lips and curves that accompanied the flowing hair, adding to the longing he felt. He had to go to her.

He took another step gracelessly splashing into the water, and disrupting the surface of the lake. The song broke for a heartbeat as another twig snapped, and Ian looked around as though coming out of a dream. When his eyes came back to the woman in the water she crooked a finger, beckoning him. The song renewed. Ian waded past the safety of the shore, and in another step he’d fall off the sheer drop into the depths of the lake.

He hesitated on the final step. His foot hovering over the drop as some part of his mind fought back against the lull of her song. The woman floated towards him as though she sensing his resistance. Her hand outstretched, and mere inches from his ankle broke the surface of the lake. As the air caressed her delicate skin she began to change. Her alabaster skin became pallid, her fingers elongated, and her nails became blackened talons. Fear replaced Ian’s docile calm as he gazed into sightless black holes. A wail of agony came from her gaping rotten maw, and she surged forward.

A gray blur erupted from a cluster of ferns slamming into his chest, and knocking him back from the lake. One wild gunshot went off as Ian fell to the ground. His gun, thrown from his hand, landed nearby. The jolt, coupled with the loud report from his gun, shattered the phantasmagorical setting. The monster in the water vanished back into the depths, and the song ceased.

“Arghh!” Ian screamed in pain.

A massive gray dog stood over him, with one unremitting paw pinning his shoulder. A soft warning growl poured from clenched teeth as it lowered its head, and the duo locked eyes.

“Easy boy,” Ian breathed out in what he hoped was a soothing tone. His eyes darting about in search of his weapon. He spotted it and inched his hand towards the grip. Thick, heavy globs of slobber dripped onto his neck and chest causing him to thrash his head from side to side.

Another louder growl burst forth as Ian’s fingertips brushed against the grip of his gun. He stopped to take in the full measure of the beast pinning him down. He quickly drew the conclusion that this was not an ordinary dog.

Massive dinner-plate-sized paws tipped with dangerous nails. Saber-toothed lower canines, that rested inches from his throat. The prehistoric sized dog was coated in dark gray fur. Tufts of white, brown, and black weaved through its coat made the beast blend into the twilight, except for its eyes. Its eyes were silver ringed by a deep crimson that Ian swore were glowing.

Ian was at the monsters mercy and it made him wonder what it was waiting for as they continued their staring match in frozen silence. A little factoid in his mind kept telling him not to break eye contact or show fear. He needed to come up with a plan, and fast. His fingers drifted towards his gun.

“Grr.”

Footsteps approaching broke the stalemate. The dog looked away but ground it’s paw into Ian’s shoulder as it did. The unspoken command clear, stay. Ian stopped reaching for his gun, thinking that this might be the canine’s owner. He twisted his head to get a look. From Ian’s upside-down view he could only tell that this new arrival was alone and clad in a dark-green cloak.

The stranger came into Ian’s sight holding an honest-to-goodness bow, and arrow, poised to fire. The figure moved with well-placed steps, keeping out of arm's reach. A booted foot swept away both walking stick and gun, and only then did the stranger allow the bowstring to go slack.

“Mal, heel,” Spoke a soft voice, yet it was firm with the command, and there was no doubt that it belonged to a woman.

Much to Ian’s surprise, and relief, the beast obeyed. Mal stepped off Ian’s shoulder with uncharacteristic delicateness, and sat on its haunches. As it leveled its gaze at Ian he found an unmistakable intelligence in them. When it became clear that “Mal” wasn’t going to eat him, Ian let out the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. With trepidation he took his eyes off the wolf, and focused his attention on his savior, or captor, depending on the next few moments.

Most of her face was obscured by an oversized hood. She was wearing leather boots, she was shorter than him, and that was about all the detail the weak light provided. Given the circumstances, and the few certainties he had, Ian decided politeness would be his best recourse.

“Thank you,” Ian said with careful inflection, he still didn’t know if she was a friend or foe. He struggled up into a sitting position with his good arm and tried to ignore the dog’s glare. He noted the way her head tilted slightly to the side, almost as if she didn’t quite comprehend what he was saying. But he had clearly understood her only moments ago. So, Ian did the only natural thing, he slowed down his words to an insulting pace and raised his voice.

“Thaaannk yooouu,” He drawled, pointing a finger in her direction to emphasize the “you.”

She looked less than impressed. A hand on her hip and further cocking of her head gave Ian a clear impression; she thought he was an idiot.

He took another glance at the monster seated next to him and decided against standing. Looking back to the woman, her cloak had shifted to reveal her clothing a bit better. She was wearing hand-tooled leather armor, with another mystery material woven in.

Ian swiftly reached the only logical conclusion; this was all a dream. His mind had wandered to nerdy fantasies when it failed to interpret the severity of the real-life situation. He was lying in a hospital bed somewhere. Drugged up no doubt after the ordeal at the warehouse. Probably handcuffed to a bed while his co-workers attempted to make sense of the tragedy. This complex hallucination was based on all the fantasy games and novels he so loved. When he reached that conclusion his exhausted his mind snapped and he fell into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. A laughter that morphed from jovial chuckling to the insane manic cackles of the desperately troubled the longer it went on.

It visibly startled the woman, who had yet to speak a word directly to Ian. Her lupine companion merely tilted his head in the questioning way that only dogs can manage. She stepped forward and knelt, setting her bow on the ground and lowering her guard to give him a closer look.

“Are you alright, Gent?” Her tone becoming full of concern.

She placed the back of her hand on his forehead to check for a fever. For no particular reason, her touch made him laugh even harder. Ian was losing his tenuous grasp on sanity itself. With her free hand, she reached into a pouch on her belt and withdrew a fistful of sand. She quickly sprinkled the fine powder over his head.

Ian let out a trumpeting sneeze that broke his laughter and forced him to breathe in the sand. Suddenly felt very tired, his laughter choked off into short giggle fits. The last thing he remembered was a vial placed to his lips and a vile liquid pouring down his throat.

A vile vial… Ha! I have to tell that one to Anders… His thoughts trailed off as he fell into the inky blackness of sleep.