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A walk sounds better. Maybe just into town and back. Lindew's Landing is thriving, after all: for starters, both Lindews are alive. You had no idea they were dead in the first place, but she took care of everything, you guess. She did a really good job. You nod to Monty and his patient wife and set off for the trees.
They're nice trees. It's a nice forest, or swamp, or whatever it is. There's fewer giant alligators in it now, which you appreciate. (You're not sure if there's fewer giant worms or not, but you strongly suspect that number has stayed the same.) It does make you hungry, looking at the low-hanging branches, an issue you thought you were done with— but at least it's solvable. You snap one off on your way past, hesitate, and press it to your chest, which caves and swirls and permits entry. The branch goes in; your chest resettles; a couple seconds later, the hunger is satisfied. You're such a fucking freak, but it's fine. You're comfortable with that.
Your feet follow a well-worn path— it'd be easy to go to the Landing without thinking hard, and it'd be safe, too. The trail cuts through the very outskirts of the Fen. No alligators here. You might've gone all the way— might've idly browsed the general store (the same, except the proprietor is 30-something now, for some reason), or sat and looked at the giant marble "Unknown" "Heroine" statue (for fuck's sake, there's a snake on her arm) for ages, except you see a fish.
Not the person kind. A silver one, pointed on both ends, about as long as one of your legs. You've seen fish before, of course, but they're usually well above the seafloor, and the bigger ones are <span class="mu-i">especially</span> well above the seafloor. They aren't in the Fen.
This one is between two trees, and you look and look and look and look and eventually say: "<span class="mu-i">Teddy?</span>"
The fish, understandably, doesn't respond. When you step towards it, it darts in the opposite direction. Shit! You hustle after it, forgetting the trail. The silver makes it easy to spot, which is great, because it's unbound by gravity and moves quick. You pick your way over roots and under dangling kelp and around infinite trees and swear because you're falling way behind— but you never quite lose sight of it. Still, it's enough of a pain that you sigh deeply, tip forward, and fall out of yourself, and then it's fun to twist around obstacles, and you have no trouble keeping pace.
The fish is unfazed by your metamorphosis. In fact, it does nothing at all to suggest it's anything other than an ordinary fish that got a little lost. But you <span class="mu-i">know</span> it's Teddy— can't accept a world where it isn't, is a better way to put it. And you pursue it doggedly for something like half an hour.
(4)
