" A chill crept into his limbs and he began to question his struggle against the sure demise of his damaged flesh—so much easier to surrender, to cease the pain, to accept his fate. Instead he raised himself from the damp ground and leaning back against the willow’s gnarled trunk, he gasped for breath, his lungs heavy with fluid. And as he sat, his chin resting against his chest, his eyes upon that ancient pool, his mind began a swift unravelling, the memories cascading like a turbulent river bound for union with the endless sea. "

― Georgina Anne Taylor , Fairy Tales for Freya