Ford had watched someone trying to drown themselves in the Black Lake before, was the thing, and that had looked nothing like this. Savino Zabini had approached the shore calmly, as though serene about the whole ordeal, not trying to attract any attention, and then when Ford had interrupted his evident suicide attempt he'd at least had the grace to act abashed and deny that was what he'd been doing. (There were not an abundance of good reasons to dive into the Black Lake fully clothed in winter, so it was little surprise that his excuses had left Ford feeling unconvinced). And he'd been here in the morning, when hardly anyone else was here and the lake was foggy enough that you couldn't see shore to shore, which helped the whole aesthetic rather more than a brisk but sunny October day. So Ford was surprised when Cash sprinted towards the lake, and not entirely sure what he was seeing, but he did not have the luxury to linger in the grass trying to parse it. Ford swore, dropped the stone in his hand, and sprinted after him.

He was making a scene, which was weird; did Cash want to be interrupted? Surely so, because otherwise he'd chosen the weirdest time and scenario in which to try and kill himself. So this was some sort of bizarre cry for help, or something, but what was he trying to accomplish? Ford was a few steps behind Cash most of the way down — Cash was, unsurprisingly, in better shape than Ford was, and he'd also gotten a bit of a head start darting off so unexpectedly — but the water's edge slowed him down enough that Ford nearly collided with him at the shoreline. "What the hell," he managed — he was too out of breathe for more, but did grab Cash's arm so that he couldn't dart away quite so easily again.

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