Noctisardor Bypass Sitting here underneath the bridge

For a while, Anselm just let the riverwater course through him. With a rare dip into his suppressed imagination, he wondered what it must be like to experience water for the first time. What it must be like to be Gideon or Ezra, and feel the cool trickle of water past their toes. To see the little water bugs dance, and the reeds shiver, and the frogs with their glittering smooth skin and strange otherworldly eyes watch on reproachfully -- how magical the world must seem to a child.

Somewhere along the way, the world had lost that sense of magic.

He knew he was grown now. It wasn't because he had experienced his first taste of lust, or had fathered children. It wasn't because he was responsible, or a dutiful tracker. It was because the world had worn away a part of him, the way water wears on stone.

His ear flicked back as he heard rustling from the bank. He looked back to see Heda, her expression warm but only tentatively so. Anselm couldn't name that emotion anymore than he could name the emotion seeing her inspired within him. It was complicated, and it often hurt.

He wanted to be vulnerable for once, to invite her into the water so that they might enjoy reprieve from the sun's beating. But all that croaked from his mouth was a sorry sound, half between a hello and a grunt. Anselm couldn't remark upon the weather. They were past the point of pleasantries and small talk. Now, he navigated a charnel's keep between the light of her golden eyes.

He cleared his throat and tried again. Hello, Heda.