Look around the lakeside for anything of use, that was your choice. And that is what you did. And now, an update!
7.1 At The Lakeside
The lakeside was very quiet, and the idle, muted whisper of water was soothing, calming. You started looking around, picking between stones and trying to see into mist, trying to find anything that could had been washed ashore along with you, but after a few moments, and with clearly nothing else to find, you stopped looking, and instead shuffled stones idly to occupy your hands while you thinking.
The city of Step did not exist, and yet you could not rest until you found it; that much was certain, and the thought to step down and end your pilgrimage did not even register as the remotest of possibilities. Especially that you knew, at some level, that you would not be given much chance to rest in times to come. The voice of the woman from your fevered dream still rang clearly in your memory. "Until we meet again". Close or far, she would be following you, and while you did not know what was to happen if you were to cross your paths again, you had little doubt that it would not be something you would otherwise welcome.
You considered: chasing a place that does not exist, with what could be the Death herself hounding you. No hope to settle down, to rest, to live a life other than one of an itinerant, a pilgrim everlasting. Then you weighted your spear, and your shield, and added to this list a rebel, a gadfly. Not that you wanted to become one, but you were one nonetheless, and there was no denying that. It just happened. You didn't really regret it. Fate abide as fate must.
The wind had silenced, and clouds above lifted; sun shone directly down, and the lake ahead shimmered. You looked into it, and in water's mirror, you saw your face, reflected and unrecognizable. The broad outline, with pronounced, sharp features was there, but not twisted and marred by a scar running from eyebrow all the way to the lip, writhing with every twitch of muscle. And ugly, ugly thing. And now, a part of you, just as much as mouse-grey hair or hazelnut eyes. A sight that could probably be revolting to some. But to you, it registered as neither abhorrent nor welcome. It just was.
This sort of detachment, distance, was almost eerie, and you couldn't tell its source. But it was there in you, and it helped. Finally, you broke your eyes away from this unfamiliar image of your own face, and turned to the quiet wood surrounding you. You picked up your spear, threw your shield on your back, over it – your sack, you fastened your cloak, and set out to look for some sort of a trail, or at least an indication what way to go.
Thankfully, you did not have to look far. A simple walk along the shore brought into your sight a hut, half-sunk into the soil, surrounded by piles of detritus. A trail of blackish smoke lingered above it, and you could vaguely pick up a smell of something being cooked. Lured by it, you came closer, one of the heaps of garbage came alive in the form or shaggy dog, who promptly broke the lakeside's quiet with a flurry of frenzied barks and growls, clearly indicating that you are not to come any closer.
You…
[ ] …took the hint, and went the other way.
[ ] …came closer nonetheless, not allowing the mutt to scare you.
[ ] …waited to see if the dog will draw anyone out of the shack.
