Whitefish River When God is gone and the Devil takes hold

They'd napped. It'd been only a few hours and he wasn't sure such a time qualified as total sleep. Somewhere in between, maybe? Either way they rose and were off once more, picking a path more true in the direction of their home in the distance. They padded along a river in the quiet of the night. It was cooler out and the breeze over the water kept things even more pleasant as they moved across the terrain and put miles behind them.

If the water had been a touch more tranquil all would have been perfect. As was, the river rushed through here and would be impossible to cross until it quieted. Still, they followed it, walking in the same direction of the rapid waters as he listened to the chirping of crickets in the distance and occasionally paused here and there to turn his eyes towards the sky. So many stars. They were impossible to count, but lovely all the same. He took note of them and reminded himself to travel more often in these darker hours. The world was painted in such marvelous colors of twilight.