Tinman, Chapter 24 Sunlight dappled the river's surface as Tommy and Draco trudged along its banks, the rhythmic crunch of their boots on the pebbled shore marking time with nature's symphony. They paused to scoop water into their mouths, the clear liquid a transient relief from their parched throats. Fingers delved into worn satchels, retrieving strips of salted fish that they chewed with mechanical necessity. The river, a constant companion, whispered secrets of the mountains as they passed by brooks and creeks. These merry tributaries tumbled over stones, creating miniature cascades before joining the greater flow that would eventually succumb to the lake's embrace to the south—a body of water they must avoid at all costs. Draco's gaze often lingered toward that southern expanse, an unspoken caution for what lie in that direction. He understood what the lake to the south represented—danger, pursuit, and the remnants of a life interrupted. The Ares Corporation had no hold on him here, thanks to the daring of Tommy's kin. Now, it was open skies and the promise of family that lay ahead, northward, where a reunion awaited amidst the cool embrace of pine-scented forests. Tommy, ever watchful, kept a steady pace beside Draco, serving as both guide and guardian. "Not much farther," he said, a note of encouragement lacing his words. His family, seasoned fishers of the lakes and rivers, would return once their bounty had been bartered. Until then, it was upon Tommy's young shoulders to ensure Draco's safe passage home. As the pair moved forward, glancing back was not an option. The only way was onward, away from the clutches of those who would seek to reclaim the boy who had become so much more than a mere cog in the corporate machine. In this place, where the wilderness held sway, they could allow themselves the luxury of hope. Draco's feet traced the path he'd once glided over, a passenger aboard the sleek power catamaran of his family. The riverbanks, wild and untamed, had been but a blur of green and brown, framed by the sturdy railings of the deck. Now, with each step, he felt the coarse sand beneath his boots, heard the symphony of rustling leaves and chirping birds, and breathed in the scent of damp earth. It was a world apart from the sterile confines he knew, a canvas of nature's unrivaled artistry. With each mile northward, away from the lake's treacherous allure, Draco's longing grew—not for the safety of the catamaran's deck, but for the voices of Cass and Sam. They were out there, somewhere beyond his digital reach, their signals muted by the abrupt baptism he'd endured in the river's churning waters. A flood that should have merely dampened his skin had inexplicably doused the spark within him—the very essence of his sentient consciousness. His mind, a marvel of synthetic intelligence housed in a vessel of flesh and blood, now faltered where it once soared. Silence reigned where a web of data streams used to dance at his command. Yet whispers had begun to stir, faint echoes of the digital realm filtering back like the distant murmur of an awakening dream. "Anything?" Tommy's voice cut through the quiet, tinged with concern. "Only whispers," Draco replied, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Like shadows flickering at the edge of sight." "It might be best if you stayed submerged in the river, the Ares Corporation hasn’t been able to find you since the connection was severed. Let's keep moving," Tommy said, his tone suggesting more than mere encouragement. They pressed on, the river's flow a constant companion to their left—a guidepost leading them ever northward. As they walked, Draco's every sense strained for a sign, a signal, anything that could bridge the gap between him and the ones he sought. He listened, hoping the next whisper from the digital world would come through clear and strong—enough to light the way home. But, Tommy might be right, severing his connection to the digital world might free him forever. Tommy's boot found precarious purchase on the jutting stone in one of the many creeks that fed into the river, its sole grazing the water's surface with a whisper. He balanced for a moment, arm outstretched toward the next rock, his eyes trained on the path ahead. "Hey, look at that," he called over his shoulder. Draco followed, his own footsteps a beat behind, focused more on keeping his balance than the scenery. At Tommy's words, he paused, steadying himself against a sun-warmed boulder. The river gushed around them, lively and unperturbed by their intrusion. Upstream, where a smaller brook merged with their watery road, something extraordinary caught Draco's gaze. In the glint of sunlight, a throng of red fish leapt and pirouetted through the shimmering stream, their scales casting prisms that danced like fireflies in daylight. Thousands of them, perhaps, each one a flash of vivid crimson that rivaled the sun's own brilliance. "What are they doing?" Draco asked, his voice tinged with wonder, forgetting for a moment the muted digital world that usually filled his consciousness. "Salmon migration," Tommy explained, his voice rising just enough to be heard over the gurgle of water against stone. "They're heading upriver to spawn." Draco's gaze lingered on the writhing mass of fish, their bodies contorting in a primal dance as old as the river itself. The sight entranced him; so different from the sterile confines of data streams and virtual realities he knew. Here was life, raw and pulsating, a spectacle unscripted by human hand. "Are they good to eat?" Draco asked, the words slicing through his admiration as his stomach betrayed him with a low, insistent growl. Tommy turned, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, eyes reflecting a knowing that only those intimate with the wild held. Tommy nodded, his expression alight with enthusiasm. "Sure, I think they're the best fish of all," he said, gesturing to the shimmering wave of red that danced upon the river's canvas. "A salmon haul brings the highest price at market." "Let's catch one for lunch," Draco suggested. The corners of Tommy's mouth curved upward, and his eyes sparkled with the prospect of the chase. Together, the boys moved closer to the river's edge, their footsteps careful and measured upon the damp earth. The cool breeze played with the edges of their clothes, tugging them towards the adventure that awaited beneath the sunlit sheen of the rippling current. With a mutual nod, the two boys veered off their northward path and made for the writhing mass of salmon, their scales flashing like tiny suns caught in a net of water. Draco's feet pounded the soft, earthen bank, each step sending flurries of pebbles skittering into the froth. "Come on!" he called over his shoulder, voice brimming with excitement. The brook lay before him, its surface roiled by the fervent dance of fish upon fish, each one desperate to forge upstream. The air vibrated with the splash of bodies leaping, twisting, a ballet of instinct and survival. Draco bounded forward, drawn by the sheer spectacle, his heart racing in time with the chaotic rhythm of nature's display. "Easy" was a word that hung confidently from Draco's lips as he plunged into the middle of the school, water sluicing around his ankles, cold and insistent. He thrust his hands beneath the surface, fingers splayed wide in anticipation of a swift catch. One salmon, its body a brilliant red, veered towards his grasp. For a moment, the world narrowed to the space between predator and prey. But with a flick of its tail, the fish eluded Draco's clutch, leaving him clutching at nothing but the liquid chill of the river. "Ha!" Draco's laugh cut through the air, undeterred by the miss. He swiped again, eyes alight with the thrill of the chase, certain this time his hands would meet with the firm flesh of the fish. Yet, the creatures were cunning, their slippery forms evading capture with an ease that bordered on mockery. Each attempt by Draco met with the same result: a near catch, a sudden dart away, and an escape into the safety of the current. Tommy's shadow fell beside Draco's as he leapt from rock to slippery rock, joining the frenzied dance. The boys' laughter mingled with the symphony of splashing water, echoing off the riverbanks. They darted after the glinting red streaks, hands plunging into the cool depths, hoping for a triumphant grasp. "Gotcha—no, wait!" Tommy's voice rang out as a fish evaded his eager fingers at the last second. His foot skidded on an algae-coated stone, throwing him off balance. With a splash that sent ripples through the school of salmon, Tommy landed in the shallows, grinning despite the drenching. "Careful there," Draco chided, though his own footing was hardly more secure. He too slipped, arms flailing, only to catch himself with an ungraceful belly flop into the water. The chill embraced him, a stark contrast to the warm sun above. They pushed forward, each misstep and failed grab only fueling their determination and mirth. As Tommy righted himself, shaking his head like a dog shedding water, Draco eyed a particularly large salmon. His heart set on victory, he mirrored the fish's movements, predicting its path. Just as his hands closed in, a voice pierced their bubble of joviality, arresting both boy and fish mid-motion. "Are you boys trying to catch a fish, or just playing with them?" The world stilled. Laughter died on the breeze, and the gurgle of the river seemed to hush in anticipation. The boys' eyes met, a silent exchange passing between them before they turned as one toward the source of the intrusion. Draco's instincts flared to life, an electric surge that propelled him into action. In a fluid motion, honed by simulations of countless battles, he unsheathed the harpoon spear from its holster on his back. The laughter that had warmed the air moments ago was now replaced by the sharp inhale of breath as he crouched, weapon at the ready. Muscles tensed like coiled springs, his gaze locked onto the stranger who had dared to disrupt their youthful pursuit. "Whoa there, laddy, I mean you no harm." The man's voice held a tremor of surprise, his hands lifting skyward in a universal gesture of peace. The raised palms did little to ease the caution that coursed through Draco's veins. Yet, he remained still, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the potential threat before him. He was poised, every sense heightened, ready to spring into combat or flee, whichever his logic deemed necessary. This was not a game; this was survival, and Draco knew it all too well. Draco's gaze swept over the man with a keen, almost predatory scrutiny. Age had etched lines onto his weathered face like a map of countless expeditions, and silver flecks at the temples lent him an air of rugged experience. His attire was that of one who sought fortune in the unforgiving embrace of nature: a prospector, no doubt, judging by the clinking pans that hung from his pack like medals of a tireless quest. With cautious deliberation, Draco advanced, his harpoon an extension of his own wary stance. The spear's tip glinted menacingly in the sunlight, a silent testament to his readiness for any treachery. His voice, though steady, betrayed the taut string of vigilance that held his composure together. "Who are you?" he demanded, each word a chiseled stone set into the foundation of his defense. The sun toasted the earth beneath their feet, and a gentle breeze whispered through the leaves while Draco kept his harpoon steady, aiming without wavering. The man’s hands hovered like pale doves against the stark blue of the sky, yet his face was serene, framed by a landscape of crinkled skin and untamed whiskers. "Names William, though most folk call me Willie," he declared with an ease that belied the pointed spear before him. His smile revealed a haphazard fence of teeth, each one a story of its own, no doubt. Draco's grip on the harpoon loosened not a fraction, his stance as firm as the ancient trees surrounding them. "What are you doing out here?" His tone sliced the air, clean and sharp, demanding truth from the character whose grin seemed to stretch even wider at the inquiry. Willie's eyes twinkled with the spark of a man accustomed to the solitary dance of shadows and light in the underbrush, the constant companion of curiosity and adventure. Silence held court for a moment, nature itself seeming to lean in for Willie's response. "Haven't you heard, lad, the silver rush is on," Willie replied, his voice carrying the timbre of wind through canyon walls. "Fortune enough for everyone, but I don’t think that’s what you lads are out here for." Draco's stance remained unyielding as the river's current; the harpoon an extension of his resolve, quivering ever so slightly with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. A shadow fell upon him, and he perceived the approach of Tommy without shifting his gaze from the prospector. Tommy, with the ease of a long-standing comrade, came up alongside Draco. The contact was feather-light, yet it anchored Draco back to the moment—the warmth of friendship melting the ice of confrontation. "It's okay, he's just a prospector," Tommy murmured, his words weaving a tapestry of reassurance. He then addressed Willie, turning towards the man with an openness in his posture that seemed to bridge rivers of distrust. "No, we're not panning for silver, we're just on a camping trip." The declaration hung in the air, simple and true, like a standard raised in peaceful territory. The forest around them seemed to exhale at Tommy's words, the tension ebbing away as leaves fluttered to the ground, bearing witness to the truce unfolding in their midst. Draco's muscles relaxed incrementally, the tension draining from his arms as he allowed the harpoon to dip towards the earth—a silent bellwether of ceasefire. Yet his analytical mind, a once-digital fortress now oddly muted, maintained its vigilant scan over the prospector's every subtle nuance. Eyes narrowed with the precision of a hawk, he watched Willie for any sign of deceit or sudden movement. The prospector, perhaps sensing Draco's unwavering scrutiny, extended his offer with a casual wave toward a nearby campsite. "If you two boys are looking for lunch, I’ve got plenty extra if you’re a mind to join me," he said, his voice rich with the lilt of camaraderie that often comes unbidden between travelers in the wilderness. A dance of sunlight through the leaves cast mottled shadows on the ground, creating an interplay of light and dark that mirrored the uncertainty coiling within Draco's chest. The proposition hung between them like fruit on a bough, ripe for the taking yet possibly concealing a worm at its core. With a nod from Tommy, the two boys edged closer to the prospector's fire where a pan lay sizzling, the rich scent of cooking salmon wafting through the air. They settled themselves on a log worn smooth by time and elements, its surface a testament to the many travelers who had paused in this very spot. As the salmon crackled in the pan, a symphony of the forest played around them—the gentle rustle of leaves above, the soft burble of the river nearby, punctuating the stillness. Willie flipped the fish with an expert twist of his wrist, then leaned back on his haunches, ready to regale the boys with tales that danced between the believable and the fantastical. His voice rose and fell with the cadence of a seasoned storyteller. "A bit of a chill in the air today, lads," he began, his eyes alight with mischief, "I recall one time I was right tired of winter." With arms wide, as if embracing the entire wilderness, he continued, "I lassoed winter and yanked it clear over that mountain there." He gestured grandly towards the horizon. "Just wanted a bit of sunshine, you know?" Tommy's laughter rang out, clear and true, as he shook his head in amusement. He didn't seem to care whether Willie's tale was spun from threads of truth or pure fancy; the joy was in the telling. Draco, however, remained less convinced. A frown etched deep into his brow as he observed Willie with the caution of a creature used to camouflage. The man's stories swirled with impossibility, and Draco's once-digital mind, though currently cut off from its usual streams of data, still sought logic in a world that often defied it. "Then there was the strangest river I ever seen," Willie went on, undeterred by Draco's incredulous stare. "So twisted and turned upon itself that it started and ended in the same place. Like a snake eating its own tail, it was!" Draco rolled his eyes, the gesture sharp like the snap of a branch underfoot. Surely no river could defy geography to such a degree. "And the drought!" Willie exclaimed, his hands now illustrating the absence of rain with a flourish towards the sky. "Not a lick of rain for the whole summer. So, what did I do? Went out searching for the rain, didn't I? And, would you believe it, found a bandit hoarding every last drop in a bottle. Wanted all the rain for himself, the scoundrel!" Willie's narrations painted pictures in the air, his gestures bold strokes of color on the canvas of their imaginations. Yet while Tommy reveled in the spectacle, Draco’s skepticism remained a steadfast barrier against the tide of Willie's creativity. The sizzling of the pan reached its crescendo, signaling the salmon was ready to be enjoyed—a tangible reality amidst the tapestry of tall tales. The boys' stomachs responded with anticipatory growls. Soon, they'd feast on the simple pleasures of a meal shared in the wild, under the watchful eyes of the trees and the endless blue canvas of the sky. Tommy leaned forward, the anticipation clear in his wide eyes, which reflected the dancing flames. "What did you do?" he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips. Draco, who had been poking at the ground with a stick, glanced sideways at Tommy. The flicker of incredulity danced across Draco's features. Could it be that Tommy, his companion on so normally rational, was suspending disbelief for these wild yarns? The prospector, oblivious to Draco's skepticism, winked at Tommy and continued his tale. Tommy's shoulders shook with silent giggles, the absurdity woven into Willie's stories seeming to tickle him more than the prospect of lunch. Draco watched, an eyebrow arched, his mind spinning webs of logic where Willie spun tales of fancy. "Well," Willie said, drawing out the word as if it were a piece of taffy stretched between his hands, "I snuck into the bandit's camp one night and stole that bottle, then I took it up the mountain." He paused, eyes twinkling with mischief. "I put the bottle on its side, and all the rain started pouring out, and that’s how that waterfall up there got started." His arm extended, finger jabbing toward a looming peak in the distance. Draco narrowed his gaze, scrutinizing the mountainside where Willie pointed. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over crags and crevices, but no cascading water graced the rocky face. He squinted his eyes, searching for any sign of movement or shimmer that might suggest a waterfall, yet nothing broke the stillness of the landscape before him. "Seems rather dry for a waterfall," Draco remarked, voice laced with skepticism. His mind, though momentarily disconnected from the digital whispers that once filled it, was sharp as ever. Willie chuckled, a sound like gravel tumbling down a hillside. "Ah, you have to know where to look. It's a bit shy, that waterfall, likes to play hide-and-seek with folks who don't believe." Draco exchanged a glance with Tommy, whose expression held a blend of wonder and intrigue. Despite the lack of evidence, Tommy's belief seemed untarnished, a willingness to embrace the wild tales spun by their new acquaintance. "Guess we'll just have to take your word for it," Draco said, a faint smile breaking through his incredulous front. For now, he chose to indulge in the narrative, if only for the camaraderie it fostered among them. Tommy's eyes sparkled, an honest joy reflecting the prospector's tall tales. "Wow, that's amazing!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with the innocence of youth and a readiness to embrace the fantastical. The scent of cooked salmon wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the riverbank. A golden crust had formed on the fish, its skin crackling under the prospector's practiced flip. The meal sizzled in the pan, promising a feast fit for the weary travelers. "Seems we've got ourselves a treat," Draco said, his stomach chiming in with a timely growl. He watched as Willie plated the salmon with a flourish, its pink flesh flaking at the touch of a fork. "Best salmon ever," Tommy declared with a grin. They each took their portion, the flavors bursting alive on their tongues, a symphony of savory notes complimenting the gentle river's breeze. With bellies full and spirits high, the boys rose from their makeshift seats by the fire. Draco nodded to Willie, "We owe you thanks for the meal." His mind, though still grappling with the silence of the digital world he once commanded, found comfort in the simplicity of the moment. "Time we get back on our way," Tommy added, his voice carrying a hint of reluctance. The encounter had been an unexpected pleasure, yet the road ahead beckoned with urgency. "Safe travels, lads," Willie called after them, his voice trailing off like the end of a well-spun yarn. The boys stepped away from the campsite, their path winding alongside the river whose waters whispered secrets only nature could fully grasp. "Mind yourselves on the trail ahead," Willie's voice carried a note of caution, punctuated by the clank of his prospector's gear. "The lake's been teeming with flood rain; she's liable to spill over into the town." Draco and Tommy paused, their feet still on the cusp of departure, as the prospector leaned against a gnarled pine, his shadow stretching long and thin across the ground. "Truth be told, I had to intervene this morn." Willie's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. "Gave that lake a nudge, tipped it up just enough so her excess would flow back into this here river. You'll see it soon enough, running as if the world's turned on its head." A wry smile flitted across Draco's lips, his gaze flicking skyward. Again, he found himself questioning the tales spun by this man of the mountains. It was one thing to witness the impossible dance of salmon upstream, another entirely to believe in the tilting of lakes by human hands. "Really?" Tommy's voice held onto the wonder of a child who still believed in the magic of tall tales. "Indeed," Willie affirmed, a nod so solemn it almost dared them to doubt. "Thanks for the heads up," Tommy replied, ready to embrace the prospect of reversed rivers and topsy-turvy nature. Draco shook his head ever so slightly, the gesture lost in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. His eyes, once more at home in the digital void than the wilderness, rolled in silent commentary on the absurdity of the claim. Leaves crunched softly underfoot as Draco and Tommy made their way back towards the main river, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow on the path. Draco's eyes darted to the trees that stood like silent sentinels, guarding the secrets of the woods. A gentle breeze stirred the branches, whispering secrets he could not decipher. "I think he was lying about doing all that stuff," Draco murmured, skepticism lacing his tone. Tommy shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I believe him." Draco glanced sidelong at his companion, noting the earnest glint in Tommy's hazel eyes, the crease between his brows smoothing with trust. For a moment, the world seemed simpler through Tommy's perspective—where stories bore truth and the extraordinary lay hidden in plain sight. "Really?" Draco prodded, his voice barely above the rustle of leaves. "You reckon a man could tip a whole lake?" "Stranger things have happened," Tommy replied, his step light on the forest floor. "Stranger than reversing a river?" Draco pressed, unable to mask the incredulity in his voice. "Maybe," Tommy said, his gaze fixed ahead, where the sunlight filtered through the canopy, painting patterns of light and shadow on the path before them. A pause hung between them, filled only by the sounds of nature and the retreating day. Draco pondered the enigma of belief—how it shaped one's view of the world, how it bound or freed the spirit. His own convictions, born of logic and the digital realm, suddenly felt distant, like echoes from another life. "Let's see what the river tells us," Tommy suggested, his voice steady, betraying no hint of doubt. "Lead the way," Draco conceded, a half-smile tugging at his lips. Despite himself, he found his stride matching Tommy's, buoyed by a curiosity that begged to be sated. As they approached the river's edge, anticipation quickened his pulse—not for the proof he sought, but for the possibility that the world might still hold wonders beyond his understanding. Silence fell upon the pair as they navigated through the underbrush, the air growing cooler and the scent of water signaling their proximity to the river. With each step, the murmurs of conversation faded into a hush of reverence for the scene unfolding before them. The riverbank came into view, a familiar path etched by their own footsteps. Tommy paused, his stance shifting as he considered the liquid expanse before him. A furrowed brow cast shadows over his eyes, which scanned the river's surface with an intensity that beckoned Draco to look closer. Following Tommy's gaze, Draco's own eyes widened as he witnessed the impossible. Currents that should have danced toward the lake now frolicked like mischievous sprites upstream. The water, a clear mirror to the world, reflected the absurdity of nature upended. Twigs and leaves that once drifted lazily south were now embarking on a backward pilgrimage, defying reason. "Is this..." Draco's voice trailed off, his disbelief hanging in the air as thick as the mist that clung to the water's surface. "Uh-huh," was all Tommy could muster, his affirmation short but weighted with awe. Draco stepped forward, the crunch of gravel beneath his feet breaking the spellbound quiet. He crouched at the water's edge, his fingers caressing the cool fluid, half-expecting it to retreat from his touch as if shy of being discovered in its playful deceit. "Nature doesn't just... reverse course," Draco uttered, the words forming slowly, as though speaking them faster might shatter the delicate fabric of reality stretched taut before them. "Sometimes it does," Tommy replied, his voice a whisper of acceptance. The boys stood side by side, united in wonder, as they beheld the river's backward ballet. It was a sight neither would soon forget—a testament to the unpredictable symphony of the wild that composed itself anew with each passing moment. Draco stood, his gaze transfixed by the liquid enigma before him. The river's current, a force that had always been a constant companion to their northward trek, now betrayed every expectation with its serene rebellion. The sun, high above, cast glimmers of golden light on the surface, creating a spectacle of shimmering confusion. "Nature's playing tricks on us," Draco murmured, still unable to reconcile the sight with his understanding of the world. "Or maybe ol' Willie did tip the lake after all," Tommy said, his voice tinged with a mirth that danced on the edge of belief. "Impossible." Draco shook his head, a small smile betraying his attempt at skepticism. "We can't seriously entertain the ramblings of a prospector as fact." "Yet here we are, staring at evidence that might just prove otherwise," Tommy countered, his grin broadening. "Coincidence," Draco insisted, though the conviction in his voice had begun to waver like the leaves of a tree questioning the direction of the wind. "Magic," Tommy replied, his eyes scanning the reversed flow as if seeking out those hidden truths. "Let’s go," Draco said, the concept of magic outside the Game Dome something he was not yet willing to grapple with.