Totoka River Con altura

Larus' mind was buzzing with complicated thoughts; faint memories juxtaposed against fantasies, faces melding in to faces, voices lilting in his ears despite the absence of a body — he wasn't losing his mind but he felt as if he was hinging on the very end of his proverbial rope nonetheless, wanting nothing more than clarity to fix whatever the bear had pummelled to pieces. He could remember things. Not in the right order, and not to any strong degree, which made him maddeningly confused; yet he was driven north towards the coast by the persistent image of a smoke-faced woman and the scent of brine. The moon was full and lit his path like a spotlight, casting stolen light across his silvered figure as he roamed.

He knew of the name, Caiaphas, but did not associate it with the soot-faced crone or the sea scents that haunted him. He thought of the wild woman with the firey coat, of the words she'd once shouted at him and tears she had spilled, but instead of claiming to be his mother his brain replaced her monologue with something darker — promises of death, the claim that she wanted him dead. That wasn't right. But he remembered someone saying it to him; and the cold of ice, the sight of purple flowers blooming wildly. A pool of water reflecting his image in the dark --- but all was swept aside as Larus came across a pungent scent on the wind. It reminded him of the black-coated stranger he had encountered in the moors of the west.

He was intrigued, and eager for a distraction — so Larus chose to seek out that scent, trailing towards the intertwined scent of cold river and musk while the pale moon lit the way.