The river bent wide and slow where the road left it behind.

  They reached it by midmorning. Sunlight scattered across the surface, broken by reeds and smooth stones. The air smelled of water and moss, alive in a way the road had not been.

  Kael stopped. “We rest here.”

  The shepherd nodded. He had already noticed the fish.

  Small shapes moved beneath the surface, quick and cautious. He crouched at the bank, watching patterns form and break.

  “You fish?” Kael asked.

  “I herd,” the shepherd replied. “But waiting is the same.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Kael snorted softly and handed him a line and hook. “Do not rush.”

  They fished without speaking.

  Time passed differently near the water. The pressure inside the shepherd softened, spreading instead of pressing. When a fish finally took the hook, it was sudden and clumsy, splashing more than necessary.

  The shepherd laughed before he could stop himself.

  Kael raised an eyebrow. “You needed that.”

  They cooked the fish on flat stone, ate slowly, and said nothing about how good it tasted.

  Later, a trader’s cart appeared on the far road. It did not approach. It slowed, measured them, then continued on its way.

  “Merchants do not stop where the Kingdom listens,” Kael said. “Remember that.”

  They followed the river until evening. At a small crossing town, they found an inn that did not ask questions. Coin changed hands. A room was given.

  Inside, the walls were thin. Voices carried.

  Someone was singing.

  Not the hymn. Something older. A river song, poorly remembered.

  The shepherd lay awake, listening, and wondered how many songs the world had already lost.

  Outside, the river flowed on.

  For now.