Falls of the Hinterlands if a clod be washed away by the sea, europe is the less

the mountains lay at their back. germanicus had now crossed into a land never before seen. led by the elk-woman and her brother, the growing clan had come into the hinterlands. verdant with the influx of rain, bounded by greenery and mossy ledges, marked by waterways that flowed crystalline, even germanicus could find appreciation with the beauty of the place.

he went north that day, drifted up the river that led into the strath. the crash of falling rapids grew louder and louder, until the soldier found himself ensnared by the sight of them. surely nymphs dawdled here, and germanicus amused himself by idly looking for them, peeking here and there as he came close enough to be misted by the cascade. 

the muted yellow gaze shifted; there was another here, a still and masculine figure that seemed charmed as well. he spoke not, the eaglebound; he only tightened his toes into the wet dirt, leant into the spray of the falls.

they spoke in time, and in time parted, each perhaps lighter for it.