The dummy was crudely made – a log jammed into the dirt and anchored with stone, moss still clinging to its rotting bark – but it served its purpose. Eadwulf's fists made contact once, twice, then a third time. He spun and dealt a fierce kick at the height of a man's knee. As there was no joint to pop, the impact traveling harmlessly up his own ankle and ricocheted through his shin.
Shirtless, his scars and tattoos on careless display, he stalked left, then right, keeping his eyes on his unmoving opponent yet seeing in its place the slavering beasts that had attacked months ago, when Vecna's foulness spilled into Dunwich. Or the Kryn soldiers that had been his enemies for a decade. Or, more recently, the creatures he had fought on the beach, whose fangs had bitten into his flesh and whose claws had torn his skin. Yet he was not entirely unaware of his surroundings.
This was still Sidewinder Park. To the left of him was still Dark Score Lake.
And that was still a familiar figure, unless he was much mistaken, watching from the treeline.
"Lost again?" Eadwulf called out, without glancing over.