In the language of the first peoples of the land, it was and is referred to as The Water which Calms the Restless Spirit.

There were many translations in older texts, but when the time came to put in on a map, someone had to give it a definitive name. The legend goes that the registrar misheard the proposed name that the cartographer wished to give it; the cartographer wished to name it after himself, but somehow in the registrar's mind, "Lake Stillman" became "Lake Stillmind." Perhaps he was subtly influenced by the understandings of the first peoples, though that seems unlikely.

The lake itself was not terribly difficult to access, for the able boater, though a long portage makes it difficult to carry heavy equipment through. The lack of motors and abundance of fish made it ideal for canoeing and shore-fishing, and the lake itself was not so wide or long as to create massive waves, nor so deep as to be too much of a danger for any reasonably strong swimmer. The water was muddy but clean, and the rocky, hilly shore alternated between bare sedimentary stone and green tree cover.

It was never fully settled by cottagers. No direct roads existed. Occasional run-down trapper's cabins dotted the shoreline in various places, but they tended to be at the far end of the water from the portage that the campers used. That path was conveniently connected to Abel Lake (Abel being Stillman's first name) where there was highway access, and a parking lot.

And in the late afternoon, after a full day of paddling and portaging and paddling again, four young women made their way towards a small island in the middle of Lake Stillmind, just out of view of the portage, barely within sight of the north shore.

"Alright, girls, this is the place."

Two canoes were pulled up on shore, tied up for safety, unloaded. Gear was hauled uphill to a small flat clearing, big enough for two tents at the edge in the shade and a little kitchen area at a safe distance.

The four were a strange mix. One massively muscled, over six feet tall, with short golden hair and bright blue eyes, doing most of the heavy lifting. One Black, with dark curls and eyes and an easy demeanour, a loud laugh and a quick wit, sorting the bins and bags that the first hauled. One green-eyed redhead, absolutely tiny compared to the other three, slight and fast, opening those bins and bags and pulling out the necessities. And the last, of average height and build, with a brown ponytail and brown eyes, helping with all those tasks, not as big as the first nor as boisterous as the second nor as quick as the third, but carrying on much of the organization.

Tents and sleeping bags were set up, food was made ready with the remainder secured, and only then, in the last hour before sunset, was the single-burner naphtha stove started to cook dinner.

Kaz stretched tall. She was no good at cooking, and the other three knew it. She pulled her weight in other ways, anyway. She was strong, an athlete, playing football for the university women's team. She held back when paddling to keep from outpacing the other canoe, and on land, she did many of the tasks requiring sheer physicality. "Anyone object if I go for a little hike and see the rest of the island?"

"No." "Nah." "Go for it."

"Back in half an hour, then," Kaz said, heading uphill. They'd seen half of the island from the water, and they had a map, which was how they knew about the campsite. The island was small and mostly flat in the south, where they'd landed, rose slowly to the north until it reached the marked campsite and fairly steeply from there until it dropped off a sharp cliff. Kaz wanted to see what the view was like from that cliff, and what else they might be sharing the island with. Probably nothing but birds.

The walk was relaxing in the late afternoon sun, walking with the thin tree cover overhead and through the crunch of the soft branches and pine and spruce needles below. The breeze that had kept them cool on the water did the same for her on land. The rocky island seemed devoid of ants or wasps or other nuisance insects. The top of the island gave Kaz a view to the north, the mainland just barely in sight, the beautiful water shining in the sunlight.

"Great sight, isn't it?" A masculine voice said behind her, causing her to jump.

"Oh, yes, it is," she replied, turning. He wasn't as tall as she was, maybe just under six feet. He had a nice smile, she noticed.

"Been here long?"

"Just got here. My friends are making dinner." She was starting to feel the length of the day, several hours of paddling, the warmth of the evening... her eyes felt a bit heavy.

He had a nice smile. Nice brown hair. "I'm Jon Tucker."

"Cassandra Blight. Kaz."

They shook hands. He had a nice handshake. Nice eyes. Nice smile, nice brown hair, nice brown eyes. Her eyes felt tired. "Can I ask a personal question?"

"Uh huh." She felt like she might fall over. It was strange.

"Do you walk in your sleep?"

She reached up, scratched her head in confusion. Her eyes closed. Her arm fell to her side. She was still holding his hand. She didn't choose the words she spoke. "I will sleepwalk for you." Obediently, obeying a command she did not hear, she started to lift her shirt over her head.