The one and only time Riordan had been to this private stretch of beach, he’d been in no condition to really take it in. Turning down a private access road and parking in a tiny weathered lot, Riordan found himself surrounded by short dune trees and shrubs. Not far away, cottonwoods and beeches formed a thicker forest, but here, the sky surrounded him, not held back by the stubborn trees anchoring the sand dunes.

Riordan parked his borrowed vehicle next to the one currently in the lot. Its plates showed it to be one of the pack vehicles as well, so there was at least one pack member out here. He tried not to let that rankle at him. The lakeshore was surely big enough for both of them.

Daniel had followed Riordan, as he usually did. The ghost smiled up at the clear blue skies and sunny weather. “It really is beautiful on the lake,” he said, “I used to come here whenever I could, both down near Chicago and especially when I was visiting Aunt Sophie. There’s something about the Great Lakes that just makes for the most amazing beaches.”

“The glacial moraine means that the beaches have very fine deep sand, unlike a rockier ocean beach. Also, the lakes don’t have the same tidal forces, making for gentle wind-blown waves. And then there’s just the fact that it’s fresh water and warmer than the oceans this far north.” Riordan paused in his explanation as he realized Daniel was staring at him. “What?”

“Sometimes I forget you are actually as old as my grandpa until you do things like that,” Daniel answered.

Frowning, Riordan started to make his way towards the beach along a walking path worn into the sand dunes. “I’m only sixty-three. That’s not even middle-aged for a shifter.”

“Cut me some slack,” Daniel teased, “I’ve only known about magic for a week or two now. I think I’m adapting well, all things considering.”

That was depressingly true. Riordan tried not to let it get him down again. He had enough guilt and regrets without trying to take on Daniel’s share too.

The sight of Lake Michigan as he crested another dune distracted Riordan from his feelings. The water was steely blue against a vibrant clear blue sky. A cool breeze played over his skin, mixing with the summer sun to relax Riordan. He reached down to take off his boots, digging his bare feet into the soft sand.

The breeze also brought smells with it. Mostly it was clean plant smells, both of the kelp and the trees, but also a fishy scent from the water. And then there was also the smell of another shifter. A familiar one.

Riordan changed course, following that last scent up and over another dune and then down into a sheltered valley caused by a creek leading out to the lake. It was a beautiful peaceful place, just what he needed. The memories of the death mage’s ritual in the dark woods had no place here.

No doubt, that peace was also why Mark was there.

The apprentice shaman sat in the attitude of meditation, but Riordan wasn’t sure the young man’s thoughts were that peaceful or organized. Riordan hadn’t witnessed the physical side of the fight against three death mages and their hundred cultist followers, having been tied to the spirit realm side of that conflict and otherwise unconscious. But he’d heard reports afterwards.

Just being around such a nasty piece of magic, one anchored on a spirit, had to be rough to a sensitive spirit mage like Mark. Add in the fact that this fight was the first time he’d ever been called on to engage in a major conflict, physical or magical, and the shock and trauma was really not surprising. Especially since Lucinda said she’d lost him under a pile of magically enraged cultists for a while, which was some zombie horror movie shit.

Especially since several of the cultists in that pile had ended up dead.

Mark was legitimately young, for both shifter and human alike. He physically looked about eighteen, though Riordan knew he was in his early twenties. This had been Mark’s first rather brutal exposure to death. Most people went their whole lives without seeing violent death. Shifters had a higher chance of it, between their longer lives and the nature of needing to police their own people, but it still wasn’t terribly common. The magical community tried to avoid large scale war and death amongst their population, already so vastly outnumbered by regular humans.

Riordan wished he could have spared Mark that rude awakening to the darker facts of life and death. He liked the kid.

As such, he picked his way down the dune and moved to settle down next to Mark. The apprentice didn’t react to Riordan’s approach, lost in thought or meditation or whatever. Riordan left him to it, relaxing back against the sand and letting the sun soak into him. He closed his eyes, sighing softly. He’d needed this.

That sigh pierced Mark’s quiet in a way that Riordan’s footsteps had not, the young man startling visibly as his eyes flew open. His head whipped about as he searched for the source of the sound before finally latching onto Riordan. His brown eyes were wide and glassy for a long second before recognition set in and Mark slowly relaxed again.

“Riordan,” Mark greeted, his voice rougher than normal and dark circles under his eyes.

Riordan sat up slowly, trying not to upset Mark further. “Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude. I was looking for somewhere that I could get away to that didn’t feel too raw. Norris suggested here.”

Mark blinked at Riordan before nodding, a small lopsided smile appearing on his lips. “Norris suggested I come here as well. I’m technically supposed to be at lessons with Frankie right now, but he said he’d take care of it.”

No wonder, given how shitty Mark was looking. The apprentice was likely in no shape to deal with classes. Riordan asked gently, “Not sleeping well?”

Mark laughed dryly, “Not so much, no.”

“Want to talk about it?” Riordan offered.

The offer gave Mark pause but then he shook his head. “Maybe eventually. I know it’s not healthy to keep things all bottled up. That’s part of Being A Shaman 101. But I just… can’t. Not yet.”

“Fair,” Riordan said with sincere understanding. He’d been through hell a few times in his life and could imagine what a mess Mark’s head had to be right then. “The offer stands for whenever you decide you need it.”

They lapsed into silence again, though not uncomfortably so. Riordan was aware of Daniel watching Mark with a worried expression. Riordan got it. Mark was someone who had the potential to be incredibly strong, not just in magic or combat or anything like that, but as a person. He was someone who could really be the kind of shaman that absolutely terrified Riordan, the one who was able to hold the heart and spirit of a pack in their hands and protect it. Daniel clearly saw something to respect there too.

Right now though, Mark was still just a kid dealing with his first major trauma. How he processed this could make or break him. Riordan wasn’t too worried though. Mark was surrounded by some really wise people who sincerely cared about him. It might be a thorny path to progress, but he wouldn’t be without aid on the journey.

Coming to the lake really was the right choice. For shifters, being near nature felt good, but forests were upsetting at the moment. The sand dunes fit better with Riordan’s mood. The sand and heat also called back to an older happier time of Riordan’s life, back on his home soil. America had some truly beautiful places in it, despite its shitty politics, but he didn’t slow down to appreciate them often enough.

After a while, Mark broke the silence. “So… Have you had any luck with shifting since-- since everything?”

Riordan grimaced. “Not so much. My badger’s there inside me. I can feel him easy enough. But everything is off kilter inside me so I keep reaching for the wrong place when I try to establish a connection.”

Mark tilted his head, studying Riordan with an odd expression that made Riordan uncomfortable. He scowled and asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” Mark started, though he contradicted himself by continuing, “It’s just the way you talk about your shifter animal. It’s like you view it as a separate entity and not another aspect of yourself.”

Riordan shrugged. “I’ve heard the theories about what our animals are and how we end up with specific ones and how the animal influences the person, but no one seems able to pin down a definite answer.”

“Maybe, but there are some things we do know for certain,” Mark countered with all the assurance of a good student, “A shifter animal arises from spirit magic and is connected to the soul. Shifters who are spirit walking still have access to their animal half and can draw strength from it. The life magic half of the shifter affinity ties the magic to our bodies, allowing for passive augmentations and active shapeshifting. A shifter can have connections to other spirits, but they do not gain additional shifter forms for doing so, which means that there is something unique about the spiritual animal of a shifter as opposed to an average spirit.”

There was a lot of information to unpack there, even if Riordan had heard all of that at some point before. What he didn’t see was where Mark was going with this. “Okay. What difference will it make how I think about my badger?”

Mark blushed, shrugging, and Riordan thought that the boy might wave it off, which incited a certain amount of urge to throttle it out of him. But then Mark looked at Riordan again and said, “If you think about your badger as separate and external, then you have to reach for it and establish a connection. If you think of it as part of yourself, then aren’t you already connected?”