CHAPTER 15: The Waters source

Kalo, Lukan Otterpaw, and the magical broom set out from the otter’s cozy home beneath the fallen willow. Their path was clear, logical even. They followed the meager trickle of the stream upstream, tracing its fading course. The once-flowing tributary, now reduced to little more than a dry bed of sand and stone, had been their guide, leading them further into the heart of the heath. The loch, in the higher reaches, was the ultimate source of this water, the lifeblood that fed not only this stream but all the others that branched from it.

The journey was peaceful at first. Tall reeds and soft grasses brushed against their legs, and the willows swayed gently in the wind. The air was crisp and invigorating, and despite the unnatural silence hanging over the heath, the beauty of the land was undeniable. Birds, usually abundant, had long since disappeared, leaving the place eerily still.

Lukan Otterpaw, ever resourceful, managed to catch fresh trout from the remaining waters, his otter skills honed over the years. The fish sizzled over the fire, filling the air with a delightful scent. Kalo, always prepared, pulled out crusted bread from his pack and uncorked a flagon of wine, sharing the meal in quiet companionship. Sprig, Kalo’s familiar, coiled around Kalo’s neck, flicking his tongue in the air as if tasting the faint smells around him. The camaraderie was a small comfort against the growing unease that stirred within Kalo’s chest.

As they ventured onward, the landscape began to shift. The elevation increased, and the soft, rolling heath gave way to rougher grasses and moss. The chill in the air deepened, and dark clouds began to gather above them, casting an ominous shadow over the land. The wind picked up, carrying a biting cold that tugged at their cloaks. The last traces of the stream began to dwindle, and soon they were walking along a dry riverbed, the stones crunching beneath their feet.

At the edge of Loch Ceòladh, they found their first indication of the dam's far-reaching influence. A small stone and log structure blocked the stream entirely. It was a simple dam but effective in cutting off the flow of water. Tracing the edge of the loch, they realized that every creek and tributary had been similarly blocked. Only the main river, flowing north, seemed to remain, but even that was dammed further along, sending water towards the peat bogs.

It was then they saw the peat barges. Slowly, eerily, they made their way across Loch Ceòladh. Brownies, with their wily eyes and sharp, pointed ears, worked diligently to push the barges along with enchanted poles. The vessels were laden with the rich, black-brown peat of the bogs, a valuable commodity bound for the Blue Wizards’ capital.

The brownies were ever vigilant, their heads darting up to scan the horizon for any signs of trouble. Lukan Otterpaw and Kalo crouched low, careful to remain out of sight. Sprig, ever watchful, was coiled tightly in Kalo’s pocket, his small, sharp eyes flicking back and forth, sensing every movement. They watched for hours as the barges moved steadily across the loch, the sound of water lapping at their sides mixing with the quiet murmur of the brownies’ chatter. One barge even had a red cap pixie aboard, weaving magic that seemed to propel the vessel along with ease. The creatures, though small, exuded an undeniable sense of menace. Their presence added an unsettling layer to an already tense situation.

As night fell, Kalo and Lukan Otterpaw made camp along the loch’s edge, hidden among the reeds. The fire was small, the smoke barely a wisp, and they kept their voices low, speaking only in whispers. The appearance of brownies was a real concern; they were known for their cunning and trickery, and the addition of the red cap pixies made things even more dangerous. Kalo had seen their kind before—dark, malicious, and always seeking to cause harm.

Kalo turned to his broom. "Head north. Find out where these barges are coming from, and where the pixies and brownies originate. We need information."

The broom bobbed in agreement before shooting off into the sky, disappearing into the vast expanse of darkening blue of the end of day.

Just as the broom vanished from sight, a rustling sound came from the reeds at the edge of their camp. Lukan Otterpaw, ever alert, thrust his spear toward the movement, and Kalo instinctively readied himself for whatever threat might emerge. Sprig slid out from Kalo’s pocket, uncoiling himself quickly and positioning himself on Kalo’s shoulder, his tongue flicking in anticipation.

They waited, tense and silent, as the rustling grew louder.

From the tall reeds, a figure emerged. A faun—Eryndor—stepped into the firelight. Rain still dripped from his small antlers, and his moss-green cloak and tartan waistcoat were damp from the journey. A carved wooden flute hung at his side, and his hooves clicked lightly on the stone as he trotted forward with a warm, if slightly mischievous, smile.

"Ah, Kalo! Lukan Otterpaw! It’s been far too long," Eryndor greeted, his hands tucked casually into his waistcoat. His voice was deep and resonant, a sound that seemed to harmonize with the land around them.

Kalo grinned, his eyes lighting up at the familiar face. "Eryndor! I didn’t expect to see you here."

The faun nodded, his smile widening. "Nor I, but it seems the fey forces are stirring, and I’ve been keeping a watchful eye on things."

As Eryndor settled by the fire, Lukan Otterpaw and Kalo exchanged glances. They hadn’t expected such a timely reunion, but in these uncertain times, it was a welcome one. It wasn’t just the old friendship they shared that was important, but the information Eryndor had gathered in his quiet observations. The pixies, it seemed, were not the only threat to the heath. Darker forces were at play, and the faun had been spying on the activities of the fey who had taken root in the land, forcing their will on the natural world.

The fire crackled as they spoke, and the night deepened around them. They were no longer just a small group traveling the heath. They had found an ally in Eryndor, someone who could help them understand the forces at work. Sprig, now comfortably coiled around Kalo’s shoulders, flicked his tongue every so often, his sharp eyes narrowing with suspicion at the mention of the fey.

As they sat in quiet contemplation, Kalo’s mind drifted towards the looming task ahead: the mighty dam, the looming threat to Loch Ceòladh, and the creatures that had come to control it all.

The loch was still, its waters barely disturbed. The moon shone faintly, casting long shadows on the water’s surface. Then, as if to answer Kalo’s thoughts, a massive ripple broke the surface—a shape moved beneath the water, dark and mysterious. It was the serpent of the loch, Cailleach'na-Bheith. For a brief moment, it breached the surface, its eyes catching the moonlight, glinting with an ancient intelligence.

Kalo’s heart skipped a beat. It was as if the creature had come to acknowledge them, to signal its allegiance in this struggle. He hoped that Cailleach'na-Bheith’s presence would prove to be a powerful ally as they prepared for the battle to come.

And so, beneath the starlit sky, they ate their meal and prepared for the day ahead, knowing that the challenges of the loch and the mighty dam awaited them.

Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3