Re: lake, by the shore
He would have liked to say he was utterly individual, no guidance, a weed growing upward unhindered and unwatered, but it was untrue. That birth didn't shower him with that specific brand of parental guidance that created warm, empathetic pearls of society, it was just old, old fact. Faults were his and talents were a credit to his teachers. It was a strange streak to his character, almost humble; accompanied with a tendency toward isolation it was even more strange - and rare to excavate.
As drowning victims go, he was ideal. He didn't struggle against her as soon as he realized she was there, ceasing his increasingly futile efforts to make his numbed muscles move. Fortunately he could hold his breath for a very long time, and took a controlled (grateful, very grateful) breath when he came up. He tried to make himself float since he was a heavy person even dry.
"I never had much interest in sailing," he said, in a bare echo of his usual dry voice. "And my backstroke isn't what it - it used to be."