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It was hard to believe that school had really begun. Less than a week ago, Ripley was with his family at King's Cross, and so much has happened since that it is impossible to squeeze all of the events and feelings into a single summarizing thought. He'd been sorted into Slytherin (as his father had been before him), unlike some new friends but like others -- Elspeth was placed in Ravenclaw and Marcus Gryffindor, at least Stephanie became a fellow snake -- and he'd moved into his dorm and begun classes. Herbology was fantastic as expected, Astronomy was full of interesting instruments, and Potions, well, it's precision would balance some of the more artful subjects. Of the classes he hadn't yet attended, Ripley was most looking forward to Charms and Flying. At least a few things that weren't stuffed into this week.

Now, however, it was the weekend, his first at Hogwarts and he was a bit of a loss. Unexpectedly for the typically outgoing boy, Ripley was peopled out. The novelty of it all combined with the anxious flitting of his fellow students was a bit much so, to quiet his mind, Ripley had decided to hike down to the lake on his own. The last time he had really looked at this body of water beyond the underside of it as visible from the Slytherin Common Room was during the enchanting boat trip across it upon arriving at Hogwarts. Now, however, it looked like...well, an average lake. Ripley figured that if he met someone he knew on this outing that would be fine, but he doubted it would happen. Partially, at least, because it was such a cold, overcast morning.

So breakfast out of the way, he'd pulled on his shoes and cloak and headed south out of the castle down the hill to the lake's edge. There were a few others at the shore but they were distant enough that there was a proper feeling of solitude. The fog that spent it's night and early morning surfing the gentle currents had lifted and Ripley could see the thick tree cover around the lake, a dense copse of alders, cedars, and pines. Closer to him was the lapping of dark water on a land of pebbles and mud. Ripley moved closer to the water and crouched, gazing at the water and listening.

One of his favorite counselors at a Swedish nature camp he'd attended a few summers ago had shared with him that the best way to understand nature was to simply stop and allow it to enter his senses without interruption; to be silent and still, letting the living and non-living elements to exist around him. He saw tiny fish, maybe tadpoles, playing in the shallow water and breathed in the thick combination of must and freshness which makes up the scent of a highland lake. Sitting this way for a few minutes, Ripley began to get impatient. Before the feeling overtook him, he reached out his hand and felt the water. It was frigid.

With thinking too deeply about it, Ripley pushed himself up, slipped off his robe, kicked off his shoes, rolled away his socks, folded up his trousers, leaving a small pile of apparel at shore's edge, and walked into the water. His first steps into the lake were too quick to elicit a response. But once he stopped, water up to his calves, and truly felt the bracing cold, he let out an involuntary sound between a gasp and invigorated cheer. Despite the water's chill, this was alright. No, not alright...Right. This was right. He closed his eyes spread his arms out and let out an incomprehensible yell. Immediately, he felt the weight of the week lift from his chest and shoulders.

Ripley stood there, feet in the Great Lake, back to the shore, feeling more like himself than practically anytime in the past week. Everything would be fine.