— He taught me to see the world through a lens, she’d say.
As she turned off the bustling I-40 onto a quiet gravel road, a familiar excitement stirred in her chest. She’d been coming to this lake since she was a kid—family picnics, fishing with her brother, or just soaking in the view. Recently, the lake had been designated a protected wildlife area, which irked some locals.
— Where are we supposed to hang out now? they grumbled.
But the change had done wonders: the water sparkled clearer, and the swans seemed right at home.
Emily parked her car a good distance from the shore, careful not to spook the birds. Stepping out, she stretched, letting the warm sun kiss her face, and grinned. In the trunk, her tripod, lens bag, and a thermos of iced coffee from Asheville’s High Five Coffee waited. The lake stretched before her like a painting, its surface dancing with light as a gentle breeze rippled across it. The grasses along the banks swayed, and crickets chirped their first spring tunes.
— This is paradise, Emily whispered, pressing her eye to the viewfinder.
Emily had just snapped a few shots of the swans gliding across Lake Junaluska, their reflections shimmering in the morning light, when a strange sound broke her focus. It came from the tall reeds near the shore—a rustling, splashing noise, mixed with a faint, desperate whimper. Her heart skipped a beat. Setting her thermos of iced coffee on a flat rock, she crept toward the sound, curiosity and worry tugging at her.
— What in tarnation? she muttered, squinting into the dense green stalks.
The noise grew clearer as she approached: the slosh of water, the snap of reeds, and that pitiful cry. Emily’s pulse raced. She parted the reeds with trembling hands and froze at the sight. Tangled in the thick vegetation was a majestic swan, its once-pristine white feathers smeared with mud and streaked with blood. One wing hung limply, crimson stains marring its elegance, while the other flapped weakly, as if the bird was fighting to break free from the reeds’ grip. Its dark eyes locked onto hers, wide with fear and exhaustion.
— Oh my God, who did this to you? Emily gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. Her throat tightened with pity.
The swan seemed to sense her voice, pausing its struggle for a moment. That look in its eyes—it was like a plea for help. Emily knew she had to act fast. She sprinted back to her Ford Focus, leaving her camera and tripod sprawled on the grass. Her mind raced: *How do I even do this?* In the trunk, she rummaged through her gear, grabbing an old L.L.Bean flannel blanket she kept for chilly evenings and a sturdy duffel bag usually reserved for camera equipment.
— This’ll have to work, she said, slinging the items over her shoulder.
As she ran back, she pictured a red fox or maybe a stray dog attacking the swan, dragging it into the reeds. The bird had fought hard, but it was losing strength. By the time she reached the shore again, the swan’s movements had slowed. Its head tilted to one side, its body slumping as if giving up. Tears pricked Emily’s eyes.