One moment, the world was a blur of black pine trunks and white, blinding snow, the wind screaming in my ears like a dying animal. The cold was a physical weight, pressing against my skin, trying to turn my blood to ice.
The next moment, the world was gone.
We breached the surface of the lake, and the roar of the forest was instantly severed. It was replaced by a heavy, enveloping silence.
We sank.
Gravity worked differently here. Above the surface, it was a constant downward pull. Down here, it was a gentle suggestion. We were suspended in the center of the lake, floating in a void of liquid darkness.
It should have been freezing. This was Ironwood, deep in the heart of winter. The water should have been cold enough to stop our hearts in seconds, to freeze the breath in our lungs bef
