Oz was not sleeping well. He twisted and turned through vivid dreams. They were characterised by a double stone circle and four misty figures in it beside him. There was movement, going around in circles, spinning. The stone circle and the people were rapidly left behind in the pervading mist, but it was so bright. In the dream he could see the sun; a large orange yellow orb, bigger than it should be.     

Skirting around the treacherous loose scree he came closer to the main range, which also climbed perpendicularly skywards. He was now able to see the outcrop from a different angle, and he could see that it must be hundreds of feet high, with a plateau at its summit, as if it had been cleanly sheared off. He could just see the walls of a ruined tower at the top. Chunks of masonry littered the ground below. Not knowing whether he should be surprised, pleased or frightened, he moved closer to the cliff for shelter, as if expecting lurking eyes to be looking his way.
He couldn’t judge how long he’d been walking, and his chewing gum had long since been exhausted of taste, and his throat was parched. His rational mind tried to tell him that he was not dreaming. Dreams don’t have this much detail or continuity; they jump around, surely? Another part of his mind however, refused to accept any possibility than a vivid and profound dream. Keeping a wary eye on the tower, Oz continued remorselessly towards his goal. Fighting his growing fatigue, he saw that the lake was much larger than he’d originally thought. After clearing another rise and traversing uneven ground, the lake stretched out before him, more than a mile across. The mountain bordered at least half of the lake without encroaching upon it. There were swathes of fertile land, somewhat neglected, between the shore and its protective shield, which rose above with a ghostly orange pallor, illuminated by the westering sun. Snow topped peaks loomed in the distance.
In the lee of the now shadowed outcrop of the tower, Oz shivered with fatigue. The terrain had become far more demanding than it had been earlier; sharp rises and falls alternately exposing and concealing the lake, and huge loose boulders and thickets demanded several detours. Finally, water stretched before him. Small waves lapped at the gravel and pebbles at its edge. Forgetting his weariness Oz ran the last fifty yards and throwing down his jacket he threw himself headlong into the merciful, cool, divine liquid.