Whitewater Gorge Floating

we can fade here and assume they play until they tire out?

The last time he had played like this was back at Word of Life-- they'd had a youth camp back there and sometimes he would sit in with the children. As he played with them, all he could think was how young, how full of life! So much change left for them, but then try to tell them that. 

So how strange it was, to romp around with people old enough to be his colleagues, with people his senior! Before, most of their interactions orbited around the next ceremony or when the choir was ready to sing at a funeral, and have you gone to the doctor about your pain yet. Somewhere along the lines everybody had moved into their own glass houses, and he had obliged.

Much to his relief, Derg doesn't run away-- he isn't sure how fast or how far he could make it, and he doesn't want to test his limits. In the corner of his eye, Finley gathers herself into an awkward play bow, looking cagey. 

He aims a paw at Derg's shoulder to tap him lightly, then recoils back, satisfied. The wind, it feels good in his hair.