A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia)

[Sören]

Kemala seemed content with the boat’s captaincy, and Sören was content to elsewise pay their direction no mind. Silence would have been a fine companion to the cool winds cutting slices through his hair, but he didn’t suppose she would be capable of holding her equally sharp tongue for long. In that, at least, he was not disappointed. He gave her a mild glance, letting the thoughtful frown ease from his expression. The swaying underneath his feet did little for the efficacy of the stones. Else they did not like the company.

“They keep their answers anyway,” he said. A sign would have been comforting. Even the dream had been empty, before Nimeda showed. He clenched his jaw, retrieving them into the warmth of his palm. Eyes scanned the horizon for want of anything else to look at, but he recalled Roopkund had been like this too: an impenetrable mystery, until the trigger that ultimately spelled tragedy. Sören sighed a little, unsure if it was forbearance or acceptance on his part, and anchored his wandering gaze to the woman huddled at the head of the boat. She handled it as naturally as breathing, so he supposed at least some of what she had said last night must be true.

“I confess the creature eludes me. We are here, and I find myself unsure of what I must do next. This is your element, Kemala, have you any other wisdom to share?”