Goddess, how did I get here?

I'm barefoot on a narrow, rocky shore, and the sharp pebbles are biting into the bottoms of my feet. I stumble left and right, struggling to walk. The wind picks up, blowing hard, tangling my hair around my face so that it's almost impossible to see. The air smells faintly of brackish water, algae, and fish.

Where am I? How did I get here?

I realize that I'm afraid. I'm incredibly afraid of being here. Every cell in my body is begging to leave this beach. I could take off into the lake or head into the woods that border the water. Anything to get off this rocky shore, where I feel so vulnerable, so alone. Where am I? What lake is this? It's completely unfamiliar. I glance over at the woods, and then a dark shadow appears over me.

Cold. Black. And getting bigger.

My whole body goes rigid. Everything in me knows that this shadow means danger. Looking up, I'm shocked at how close it is, and I reflexively crouch down on the stony shore. Now I can see its source: a huge, dark-feathered hawk, flying just overhead, its vicious, golden eyes glowering. Who are you? my mind screams. What do you want with me? But the hawk has caught sight of something else.

As I watch, consumed with panic, the raptor tucks its wings to its sides and shoots down like an arrow. Ten feet above the water it swings powerful legs forward and slashes at the choppy surface with curved razor claws. A moment later it spreads its wide, dark wings and beats the air, bringing itself upward slowly at first and then with increasing speed. In its talons a large, speckled rainbow trout is twisting frantically, arching back like a bow in an attempt to drop free. As the hawk surges upward, soon to become a small spot against the sky, I see the fish's eyes go blank with death.