Before I could answer, my ears caught the sound of wet crunching. My friends heard it, too, freezing still. I motioned for Docks to pass me the torch, which he did without a word. Slowly, we stalked towards the noise, careful not to let even our breathing get too loud. It felt like an eternity, carefully picking our way through poking sedge and brambles until we came to a lake. Leaning willows surrounded the shore with conspiratorial closeness. Disturbed ripples hit the edge of the lake like the water was trying to flee from whatever was causing it. 