Re: lake, by the shore
The mad girl was trustworthy in her restless, focus-less way, and all she had to do to come up alone and triumphant on her lake was to leave him there, and he would have gone down to the cold bottom to stay. Almost without complaint, he was thinking, with some regret. He was used to putting up a fight against death. This time he almost went down for nothing - a scare, a swim? Almost nothing.
He tried not to inhale lake water as she towed him back toward the lakeshore, rock and gritty sand, and when they came closer to shallow water his heels dragged in the silt, tossing up pale clouds under the bleak surface. "That's just the way I talk," he admitted. "I don't know another way."
He had a good view of the island and the lake out toward the darkness, and there were no redeeming lights or the silhouette of death's boat sailing quietly into the mist. "It's too cold, I think." A slight tremor to the back of his teeth confirmed this in his voice as he tripped over a consonant or two. "Not strong to begin with."