Despite the protests of his family, the water was Amaris’ longtime friend. A quiet companion that sat beside his weary soul in the dead of night, cradling his exhausted limbs through the lulling song of its oscillating waves. He enjoyed its murky depths and found solace in its quiet embrace, but most importantly, no shadows of the other side ever appeared when he was beside its shoreline. It had been as though the water kept them at bay, and when he swam beneath their distant waves, he found himself at peace.

His connection to the infamous lake, he gathered, was why he felt drawn toward the changing waves that now no longer sparkled beneath the heady sun. Something was different. Something had been altered. Something had happened.

Amaris’ ears perked forward as his limbs raced toward the lapping shoreline, his gaze a narrowed glint of yellow amidst the growing stench it seemed to emit. It smelled of death—not a smell his lake had ever worn—and decay.

Much like a garbled whimper, a strangled sound escaped his lips as Amaris skidded to a frantic stop beside the water that raced to reach his paws. His logical part told him to ignore it, to move back a few paces—to turn back before that now inky water caressed him. And yet…this lake was his friend. A companion. An ally.

He must try it.

The silver Moon took a single lap at the darkened water as though compelled by a spell or his own fateful curiosity.

And it tingled.

That was odd—maybe he should try it again.

And so he did.

This time, it burned.

A yelp surfaced like ice across his parted jaw as he stumbled backward with a disjointed gait. His brows had a knitted complexion of confusion and uncertainty as the water seeped further into his system, boring holes of acid into his stomach as he could no longer quench the desire to…try it again.

As if he were an animal lost in the throes of dehydration, Amaris drank his fill and drank more than he possibly imagined he could consume. He ignored the surging waves of his own nausea, even as his own eyes bulged and that fire became a torturous flame deep within his gut.

Had it not been for the screams of Sreda’s boy to his right, Amaris would have perhaps never stopped gulping down that water until his very stomach exploded. But fortunately for all of them, the sound of words had been enough to pull him from his stupor and force his watering gaze toward the east.

Achyls! He called out through a strained throat, the water still numb but tingling down his gullet.

The boy was bee-lining toward the water. 


WAIT, He screamed as his own paws raced to catch up with his retreating silhouette.