Totoka River silver

under the pale gloom of a moody sky threatening midnight storms, the listener wove among thin grasses and rocky debris in pursuit of what was promised ahead. spawned from the wintry grey stretch of river like a clawed foot on a twisted leg, liquid gold fanned out over muted sands in glossy tendrils. the colors shifted as she walked, reflecting fleeting flashes of rosy streaks and subtle creeping midnight hues. the listener studied it closely, gaze drifting skyward and back again every so often. she was alone, a dark wild-furred silhouette cut as starkly against the bleached blandness of the riverside as the intricate mirrorscape of deltas. at the listener's flanks, spirits pressed their cold dead faces to warm tangled fur and murmured lovingly.

Within a snow-capped tree sat the woman, huddled as close to the trunk as she could manage. The storm had forced her out of the sky and it had not yet broken the clouds; she was wise at her age, knowing better than to fight the winds as they whipped faster by the hour.

Below rushed the river. Perhaps if she were more daring she might seek mice along the bank, or fish from the cold depths. Something else lurked among the ferns though: a shadowed silhouette that her keen eyes opened to witness.

A wolf? A coyote. She did not see a difference, and watched as the creature roamed the riverside, in case they found something earth-side that she could deftly pluck for herself.

cold seeped through the listener's thin furs. a deep shudder took hold at the base of their neck and snaked down their spine; a stark feeling, like premonition. perhaps it was eyes she felt upon her. the eyes of spirits.

inkstain paws lingered and fell slowly as they descended upon the stretch of sand alight with glossy deltas. the listener drifted to stillness like a feather falling to the ground alongside a shining span of olympic blue, and gazed deeply into the shallow water.

spirits whispered at her flanks, a chorus like wind through leaves. past the din, a deeper voice, melodic where the spirit voices were a steady thrum. divinity woven into music. the ache of mortality melted away, and a great warmth came over her.

come to me.

she was close, so close — to home, truth, purpose, sanctity.

Many things could be witnessed if one had the patience. The owl was such a creature, having the endurance to bide their time until more crepuscular hours; oftentimes staying alert at night for easy meals.

It served her belly well, to be watchful. She saw the way the wolf moved and paused. She wondered what it saw, and herself witnessed very little. The water may have held a secret.

Spreading her wings, she silently lofted up and over, flashing pale behind the shadow. As she landed with a tight grip across a branch, she spied below - curious.