Felltree Marsh sunflower silence

owlglass set the duck in the ground and eased dirt over it. there was no need to rush. moisture clung to him like a second skin and he looked at the world through a fogged-up viewfinder, remembering that an artist had once told him that there are really no hard edges in the world as we see it, son and that he'd never quite understood it until now. he kicked water over his boots, left foot then right foot then left foot again. he missed his ocean--

miss murphy i'm so sorry for yer loss, he- yes he was a good lad he really was- no, no it was all an accident, a terrible accident, 'm so sorry miss murphy--

his eyes snapped open like a deer's. he sat up and looked around. where am i? have i been sleeping this whole time? did he whisper that, or only think that?

far to the east, deep in the fens, someone was pacing away and stepping on the coattails of his brain. another stranger, not too noticeable. he watched him, dark-haired and slender, fading in and out of sight, and wondered, where to? where are you going? the familiar surge of excitement in his chest, anticipation, something coiled tight and shivering with potential energy, ready to make the jump...

distracted, he placed a hand over his meal, still buried in the one plot of dirt that hadn't been reduced to mud.

hullo there.