Oddly, he was on his hands and knees, chin inserted at the fork of a large tree limb. His wrists were tied to stakes driven into the ground on either side of his tree-trapped head. As he moved his legs, he realized the same arrangement bound his knees.
Moldy odors roiled on the air currents, mirroring the slime-colored water’s eddies. The only sounds were insects: whirring, darting, hovering; landing on his arms, legs, face. His skin puckered under their tiny clawed feet in an involuntary shudder.
“Not what the Tennessee travel guide listed,” he thought.