Panting with exertion, Sam plunged an oar into the murky, fast-flowing water below him. Icy droplets sprang up in response and landed on the tattered rucksack by his feet, almost like they were taunting him. _We know what you’ve done, and so do they._

__

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He stole a glance over his shoulder in an attempt to gauge how long he had. The small fleet of boats on the horizon, which were quickly closing that gap, gave him his foreboding answer.

Would he have fared any better through the woodland trail? At the time, with a split second to make his decision, he’d thought not; he’d never been much of a runner and those paths were notoriously treacherous. Now, with blisters forming on his blood-covered hands and his pursuers determined yells creeping ever closer, he wasn’t so sure.

The relentless cascade of water rushing beneath him grew restless, rocking his boat as he attempted to increase his speed. Water, he remembered his mother telling him, represents spiritual renewal - a cleansing of sin.

Perhaps it was fitting that this was where that damn rucksack had led him; this was his reckoning. Although, he mused, looking doubtfully at the turbid, grey expanse ahead of him, there was unlikely to be much purity found no matter how this ended.