In Due Course

[Sören]

He did not sleep, not even to travel to the distant planes. Silently through the small hours he replayed events, dissected them. Refit the picture. Repeat. The beast guarded something. Unseen to naked eyes. Only the runes had swept through the glamour. But had also called the guardian that protected it. That was the work of moments. The rest of the night he contemplated murder.

The morning Declan found him, he sat cross-legged as though in meditation. Red threads scored the whites of his eyes. Dark hollows hung beneath. There was a feverish edge to him, hands splayed, meeting finger-tip to finger-tip. Dry blood rimmed his nails. But there was a smile on his face. His cheeks ached with it.

His posture relaxed upon Declan's interruption, hands resting on his knees. Every muscle twinged an ignored ache. His shoulders burned stiff and immobile as a chunk of ice, and his fingers felt as though they might snap under a little pressure. But in answer to the question he laughed, unaccountably cheery, and perhaps a touch mad.

"You may keep the glory, friend. My gift to you."
Any uncertainty in Declan's ramblings was not reflected back. So far as Sören was concerned, there was not even a question. The lake belonged to them, written into their destinies as surely as the solidity of the stars. The glory he might gift, and willingly, but not the prize. That belonged to him. But it was a claim to stake another time.

"You're welcome to investigate the waters."
Confidant Declan would neither be able to call the guardian nor discern the treasure that awaited, though a theory was still a theory. "But we should give thought to slaying the beast. Did you bring a gun?"