10:36 am, 1 May 2009
Profile Lake, New Hampshire

Jacob watched the old biddy wading out into the lake, and shook his head. ~Don't know what you're up to, grandma, but if you fall over and drown, it's on your head.~

He got up and tossed his bottle of Fianna into the recycling can. That's enough reconaissance for one day. Sniff out the funny things, watch 'em for a bit, and make sure they're not mucking things up.

All these warpers crawling around were making him nervous. Jacob preferred to lay low and watch them from a distance rather than running up to them, tugging on their sleeve, and saying 'I smelled you from a mile away!' But they were up to something. Good thing winter was over.

~If they mess with the Watershed like the leeches did, then they'll find out how bad a dead fish can smell when it's been sitting on the air intakes for your car for two weeks. Waste of a good fish, though.~

He pulled open the door to his Jeep and started it up. ~And if they keep at it, then they might have to find out that the doggies aren't the only ones around here who hug trees.~

He pulled out of his parking space, and took a gravelly side trail out of one corner. One wouldn't even know it was a driveway, really. After a bumpy climb past the part that made most other cars give up, the Jeep slowly chugged up the back side of the mountain to a small clearing, where he shut it off.

Jacob jumped out of the Jeep and began his hike up the hill. Pushing aside bushes and undergrowth, he hacked his way to the little niche he called home. He walked inside for a moment, grabbed a case of Fianna from the mini-fridge, a box of reheated fried fish filets from the oven, and returned.

Turn right, up over the ridge, then down a bit. Sit at the Old Man's right cheek, on the side you couldn't see with the viewers from the shores of the lake.

Jacob cracked open two of the beers, took a huge swig out of one, and set the other on a narrow ledge of rock just about at elbow height.

~Well, Hank, it's been eight years now. Eight damned years.~

A fat, greasy slab of fried fish took its place on the ledge next to the open beer.

"I still don't understand how you could eat this crap," Jacob said aloud. "But hey, it's your day." He pawed a chunk out of the box and bit into it himself. The warm grease trickled down his throat, and the pale, bland flesh tore under his teeth. ~Close enough. Damn, this is good.~

Jacob washed the fish down with the ale. With the heel of his boot, he dug at the dirt near his feet. He tore off a chunk of fish and dropped it in the hole, the poured some ale over it.

~You belong to Her now, buddy.~

A tear rolled down Jacob's cheek as he looked out over the lake from the vantage point Hank had shown him decades ago.

~Brother.~

He leaned his other arm on the opened case. Lots of work to do today.

~Goddamit.~