Ollie felt the cold water close over his head and he didn't fight it.
He was so tired. Tired in a way that went beyond the physical exhaustion of his muscles or the aching cold that had seeped into his bones. It was a weariness of the soul, a bone-deep fatigue that made even the simple act of keeping his head above water feel like an insurmountable task.
His eyes, which had been dark and filled with shifting shadows during the healing, remained that way now as he drifted downstream. When the turbulent waters released their grip on his head, allowing him to take a shallow, feeble breath, he could see the trees on either side of the stream. They were all dead or dying, their life force drained away to fuel the witchcraft he had performed.
