Falls of the Hinterlands if a clod be washed away by the sea, europe is the less

There had not been a soul to be found in the cedars. He'd spent nearly a fortnight there to no avail. With a sigh that rattled his bones, Hrishikesh lifted himself upward—and onward. Onward, and upward, until he hovered over a river fed by a waterfall. The monotone rushing of the falls drew him into a trance as he stared at the water.

It was quite beautiful here, even if it was utterly lonely. But the heavens were even more ethereal, and had never lacked for company.

He lapped at the water, finding it cool and bright on his tongue, as all things springing from the mountains tended to be. Now more or less healed, Hrishikesh knew it was time for him to travel. He could not stop until he found friends.

The god was no longer content to rest. He had done enough of that.

the mountains lay at their back. germanicus had now crossed into a land never before seen. led by the elk-woman and her brother, the growing clan had come into the hinterlands. verdant with the influx of rain, bounded by greenery and mossy ledges, marked by waterways that flowed crystalline, even germanicus could find appreciation with the beauty of the place.

he went north that day, drifted up the river that led into the strath. the crash of falling rapids grew louder and louder, until the soldier found himself ensnared by the sight of them. surely nymphs dawdled here, and germanicus amused himself by idly looking for them, peeking here and there as he came close enough to be misted by the cascade. 

the muted yellow gaze shifted; there was another here, a still and masculine figure that seemed charmed as well. he spoke not, the eaglebound; he only tightened his toes into the wet dirt, leant into the spray of the falls.

they spoke in time, and in time parted, each perhaps lighter for it.