Watch Oot Fer the Gorwal

"Grief has a way of making you forget yourself—one moment you're mourning the dead, the next you're pretending to kayak through an imaginary river because reality has become too much to bear."

Dragging the red kayak across the dusty camp, I sought solace in the physical exertion, a welcome distraction from the turmoil that had enveloped our little community. The fibreglass hull scraped against the ground, leaving a shallow furrow in its wake—a trail marking my passage through grief and confusion.

I'd much rather be testing this out on the river.

The thought crossed my mind as I set the kayak down, envisioning the serene glide through water, the rhythmic dip of paddles, the quiet enveloping me like a blanket. I considered the kayak's size, my hands gauging the space within.

I reckon I'd fit in there perfectly.

The thought brought a momentary smile to my face, a fleeting sense of playfulness in an otherwise nightmarish situation. When had I last smiled? When had anything felt light?

A quick scan of the camp confirmed my solitude. The others were scattered—dealing with their own grief, their own shock, their own desperate attempts to make sense of the senseless. Emboldened by the absence of onlookers, I made my decision. Some part of me knew it was ridiculous. A grown man, a businessman, a father—climbing into a kayak in the middle of a dust-covered landscape. But I didn't care. I needed this. Needed something that felt normal, even if it was only pretend.

I positioned myself beside the kayak, hands gripping its sides before stepping in. The initial wobble as I settled reminded me of the unstable ground beneath—both literal and metaphorical—yet the sensation of sitting within the kayak brought an unexpected comfort.

"This is nice," I murmured to myself, allowing the fantasy of being on the water to wash over me. Eyes closed, the breeze caressing my face, I let myself drift. For a moment—just a moment—I wasn't in Clivilius. I was on the Zinc Lakes, the sun warming my skin, Claire's laughter somewhere behind me, the kids splashing in the water.

Lacking actual paddles did little to deter my imagination. My hands lifted, mimicking the motions of rowing, the kayak and I moving in harmony across imagined waters.

Go faster, harder.

My arms cut through invisible water, muscles feeling the rhythm even without resistance to push against. The illusion of speeding against the current, the imagined spray of water cooling my face, provided a brief but potent dose of escapism. Emboldened, I shifted to my knees, seeking to amplify the experience—the movement less graceful than I'd envisioned, nearly causing me to lose my balance.

I could almost taste the water, almost feel the cool embrace of—

"Watch oot fer the Gorwal!"

Charity's voice, laced with jest, shattered the tranquillity of my imagined river. The warning came too late—or perhaps that was the point. The kayak rocked violently beneath me as I startled, and in an instant I found myself capsizing, the dramatic overturn sending me sprawling into the unforgiving dust.

The taste of grit filled my mouth. As I coughed it out, the sound of Charity's laughter echoed in the distance, a reminder of the moment's absurdity. The Gorwal—whatever that was—had apparently claimed another victim. Me.

Red-faced and disoriented, I scanned my surroundings, catching just a fleeting glimpse of Charity as she vanished around the corner of the last tent in the row. Of all the things to happen—attacked by an imaginary river monster while pretending to kayak in a desert. If Claire could see me now, she'd never let me forget it.

With a heavy sigh, I picked myself up, dusting off the indignity along with the layers of dirt that clung to me. The kayak, now a vessel of my downfall, was set upright once more.

Playtime is over.

The thought sobered me, a reminder of the stark realities that awaited beyond the brief respite of my imagination. I made my way toward where Charity had disappeared, the weight of our situation pressing down with every step.

As I rounded the corner of the final tent, the sight that greeted me was one of sombre reflection. Charity stood by the river, engaged in conversation with Beatrix and Jamie. The playfulness that had marked her Gorwal prank had evaporated entirely, replaced by the grave demeanour of a Hunter discussing threats.

The heaviness in my chest grew as I approached. Jamie was still clutching Duke—the golden fur matted and still, the body limp and lifeless. He held him like a child holds a beloved toy, refusing to let go, refusing to accept that what he held was no longer what it had been.

As I edged closer, Beatrix's voice reached me, filled with a mix of fear and disbelief.

"Do you think somebody in the camp killed Duke?"

The question I had been dreading. The question that changed everything from tragic accident to something far worse.

"Naebody that ye ken," Charity replied, her Scottish accent thickening.

"What do you mean?" Beatrix asked.

"There's someone here that we don't know?" Jamie added, his voice cracking.

"A Portal pirate," I said, stepping forward to join the conversation. The words felt heavy on my tongue, the revelation of this new threat a burden I had reluctantly agreed to bear. This knowledge, shared with me by Charity in the dark hours before dawn, had placed an invisible weight upon my shoulders.

"What the actual fuck?" Jamie's eyes widened with disbelief, his arms tightening around Duke's body as if the dead dog could somehow protect him from this new horror.

Charity elaborated, her voice taking on the cadence of someone reciting well-learned knowledge. "He's likely lost and has been separated frae his partner. Some danger must hae befallen one o' them afore they could execute the location registration. They're always in pairs. Ne'er work alone."

Pairs. Registration. This wasn't random violence—it was organised. Systematic.

"Cunning and violent bastards when they're thegither," Charity continued, "but alone, they can be brute savages. Their instinct fer hunting and survival runs deep."

I swallowed the sigh I desperately wanted to unleash and steered our conversation toward something more immediate.

"Charity managed to kill one of the beasts last night," I said. "It's at the camp if you want to see it."

Jamie shook his head fiercely, refusing to entertain the thought. He had seen enough death for one morning. For one lifetime.

Yet, driven by some strange compulsion to share, I pressed on. "She wounded another, and it appears, somehow, that a third shadow panther managed to follow Beatrix through the Portal to Earth."

The words tumbled out before I could consider their weight. Jamie's attention snapped to me, a flicker of hope in his eyes that was as surprising as it was misplaced. And in that flicker, I understood my mistake. If a shadow panther had crossed to Earth—if creatures could cross—then perhaps...

Regret washed over me instantly.

I should have known better than to bring that up.

I had given Jamie false hope. Hope that he might somehow return to Earth. Hope that his imprisonment in Clivilius wasn't permanent.

"It doesnae change onything fer ye," Charity said, cutting through the tension. Her hand found Jamie's shoulder, a gesture of comfort, yet the message she delivered was anything but soothing. "Ye'll ne'er leave Clivilius alive."

The words landed like stones. Final. Absolute. Jamie flinched as if struck, his grip on Duke tightening until his knuckles went white.

Seizing upon a thread of hope—however misguided—I interjected. "But I think Duke can. You could have Luke take him to be buried on Earth?"

Even as I said it, I knew it was wrong. Knew I was grasping at straws, trying to offer something—anything—to ease Jamie's pain.

"Fuck no!" Jamie's response was a torrent of anger. "It's not fair on Henri. Duke belongs here now. We'll find a suitable place to bury him here, today."

His words were a declaration, fierce and resolute. Henri—the dog who had also lost his companion. I hadn't even thought of him.

With a silent nod, I acknowledged Jamie's decision, the futility of my intervention painfully clear.

"That's nae possible—tae bury him," Charity said, and I wanted to groan aloud.

What now?

Couldn't she see what this was doing to him? Couldn't she just let him have this one thing?

But Charity pressed on, her logic undeniable even as it felt cruel. "Ye hae nae walls, nae protection. Burying him will only attract creatures much worse than shadow panthers and Portal pirates."

I give up.

She was right. Of course she was right. But being right didn't make it any easier to hear.

"What then?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Ye'll need tae cremate his body."

Fire. Ash. Nothing left to hold, to visit, to mourn over.

I knew I shouldn't have asked!

"Like fuck we will!" Jamie's outcry was fierce and desperate, grief and fury warring for dominance in his cracking voice. He looked down at Duke, stroking the matted fur with trembling fingers. "Don't worry, Duke. I won't let them destroy any trace that you ever existed."

He spoke to the dog as if Duke could still hear him. As if love alone could bridge the gap between life and death.

"Jamie," I said, my voice laden with empathy. "We don't have a lot of options here."

"No." His defiance was a wall, impenetrable. "We're not burning Duke."

I spread my arms wide, encompassing the vast, unforgiving landscape around us. Look around, I wanted to say. Look at where we are. Look at what we're facing.

Beatrix and Charity added their voices to the debate, but nothing could penetrate Jamie's resolve. The discussion had become a battleground of grief and survival instincts, a microcosm of everything we were struggling against in this place.

And then everything shifted again.

"Has anyone seen Joel this morning?" Glenda's voice, edged with panic, sliced through the tension.

My body tensed as I scrambled mentally to recall any sighting of Joel since dawn.

"I've been with Jamie since I arrived," Beatrix said, her response offering no reassurance.

When had I last seen Joel? Not this morning. Not during the conversation with Charity. Not during my humiliating kayak adventure.

"I've not seen him at all this morning," I admitted, a knot of worry forming in my stomach. "I just assumed he was still resting in his tent. Is he not there?"

Glenda shook her head, and the chill that ran down my spine had nothing to do with the morning air. Joel was missing. Truly missing. The morning's tension had become a pressing emergency.

And then Jamie collapsed.

His legs simply gave way beneath him, Duke's body tumbling from his arms as he crumpled to the ground.

"Jamie!" Our voices merged in a chorus of alarm as we converged on him.

I reached him first, catching his shoulders before his head could strike the hard-packed earth. Kneeling beside him, Glenda's hands moved with practised efficiency—checking pulse, pupils, breathing. Her directive cut through my shock.

"Gather everyone to the campfire."

I nodded and rose, my body responding with a readiness that belied the turmoil within. Another crisis. Another demand for leadership I wasn't sure I could provide.

But there was no one else. So I went.