The other shore had looked so much closer from the dock. True to form, Anders had seen the opportunity to evade the distracted templars and seized upon it instinctively, with no thought for the consequences.
Now that he was in the water, Anders regretted that he hadn't at least thought to strip off his robe before diving into the lake; it billowed around him, dragging at his legs and threatening to pull him under. Flailing wildly—and thinking that he must look quite the fool to the other apprentices cheering him on from the dock—he was thankfully able to extricate himself from his waterlogged clothing without too much difficulty.
With a pang of remorse, Anders released the garments and let them sink to the bottom of the lake. The robe had been a favorite of his, with a flattering cut that accentuated his shoulders and chest, and he spared a moment to mourn its loss. Rest well, old friend. Your noble sacrifice shall not be forgotten.
Unburdened now, Anders hastened towards the far bank, delighting in the knowledge that each stroke carried him further from his prison. He continued his brisk pace once he reached dry land, endeavoring to put as much distance between himself and the templars as he could before his legs failed him. But a life spent trapped in a tower does not lend itself well to long periods of exertion, and all too soon he felt his strength flagging, until he could no longer bear the protestations of his legs and finally collapsed in a field of wildflowers.
Anders splayed out his arms and waited for his breathing to return to normal as he drank in the warm rays of the sun. A gentle breeze played over his damp body, causing his skin to prickle, and he savored the unfamiliar sensation. Each gust sent subtle ripples through the sea of flowers, stimulating them to release their mild, pleasing fragrance. He plucked one with a particularly attractive cluster of tiny blossoms, twirling the stem between his fingers as he scrutinized its form. Its crowning leaf curved gently with the weight of the blooms and tapered to a point not unlike that of a feather, the white petals peeking out from underneath like tufts of down.
A sudden burst of movement at the edge of his vision interrupted his contemplation, and Anders sighed heavily, disappointed that his little excursion had to end so soon, but was relieved to discover that the cause of the disturbance hadn't been a templar after all. A large bird, too far away for him to accurately classify, had swooped down on some unsuspecting critter, most likely a mouse, and now gripped its prize proudly in its talons as it flapped lazily back to its nest. He felt sorry for the poor furry creature, and wondered what sorts of thoughts must be running through its mousy little head. It would be terrified, of course, but did some part of it also appreciate that its current predicament was the most exciting adventure it would ever have in its short, unfulfilling life of scurrying around and nibbling at things it shouldn't? Did it thrill at the unfamiliar experience of flight, so utterly alien and exhilarating?
By the time the templars caught up to him a week later, Anders had come to the realization that surely the mouse had expired before it even left the ground, and he dismissed his earlier ruminations as a ridiculous flight of fancy. But that night, in the isolation cell, he dreamt that a great bird descended on the tower and snatched him from the templars' grasp, whisking him away into the endless skies as he laughed in triumph at their expressions of fear and awe.