Gallows Humour | Watty's 2023

The Healing Properties of Spring Water

From miserable drooling rain to killer sweltering heat in one day. Their body was now making its own rain as they trudged upwards. Sweat, sweat, and more sweat. At this point they had given up on ever being dry again, and their side hadn't quit burning since their slide down the cliff face.

They lifted their water bottle to their chapped lips. Almost out. They slowed, turning slowly, ears and eyes piqued. They were in the mountains. Well, big foothills. There had to be running water somewhere. Wasn't that what mountains were known for? Big ass rocks, always have water running down them. They kept walking, searching now for a source of water.

At least they didn't have to keep an eye out for the bear. They'd passed a suspicious brown lump flopped on the forest floor, a swarm forming at the root of the drying stream of blood that caked the fur around its hindquarters. Of course, they hadn't one near the thing. They weren't about to lose a limb poking a bear twice. But they had frozen on the spot and held their breath for the world's longest minute while the bear-lump gave not the faintest hint of motion or noise.

It wasn't long before delicate burbling caught their attention. They split from the deer path and marched towards the stream, snapping twigs to mark their trail as they went. It wasn't far before they came to the stream. Clear, shallow crystal water rushing over a bed of time-smoothed stones. They couldn't have asked for a better source. Mother Nature was smiling on them today. They scrubbed a trickle of sweat from their brow before it dripped in their eye. Okay, maybe Mother Nature was close-lipped grimacing at them, but they would take it.

The source of the burbling was a little ways upstream, where a rise in the land had created a miniature waterfall. A basin fed the stream. Crouching, True dipped their bottle in. Cool water rushed over their sore fingers, soothing, whisking away old blood and sweat and the heat of the day. A sigh escaped them before they caught it. Their bottle filled, but they lingered, indulging the feeling a moment longer.

Biting the tip of their tongue, they glanced at the water beyond the tiny waterfall. Ages worth of dirt and sweat, merchant's blood, stranger's blood, their blood, was caked on their skin. In every crevice and pore. Would it kill anyone if they stopped here for an hour or two?

Knowing the Faction, probably. But the Faction was also probably going to kill them when they got to Vancouver, so they climbed the rise in the land and shrugged off their pack.

First things first, they put their shoes and socks up high. They had enough blisters as it was, they weren't about to invite more by soaking their boots. With their bag also out of the immediate splash zone, they plunged into the frigid water.

It was surprisingly deep. Two steps in and the bottom dropped from mid-shin to elbow-deep. Icy water scorched the open scrapes on what had to be more than half their skin at this point. They sank and dipped their head back to drench their hair. Ugh, that felt better than anything had any right to feel.

Retreating back to the bank, they dug a lump of tallow soap from their pack, making a note to re-sort the pack. They'd stuffed everything in haphazardly earlier and nothing was where it was supposed to be. Stripping, they scrubbed as much of the grit and grime from their ragged clothes as possible. Sullied water flushed away from them like toxic run-off from the factories of old. Relieved of a thick layer of dirt, the ragged clothes looked even more threadbare.

"Even feels lighter," they joked to themself as they hung the clothes over branches. A breeze raised goosebumps across their brown skin as they returned to the basin to scrub the layers of dirt from themself. Clear water, cool and soothing, wrapped around them like silk. Inviting them deeper. They obliged, sinking to their chin and letting their eyes slide closed. For a precious moment, everything was calm. Quiet. Nothing but the slow rush of the water on their skin. Nothing but the silver burble of the waterfall and the hush of the breeze through the leaves. And a twig snapping on the shore.