Noctisardor Bypass Sitting here underneath the bridge

Hello, Anselm. It was such a simple thing, but it jolted something alive in his heart. He looked to her quietly; she was perceiving him. There was something strangely gentle about using someone's name, though there was power to it too.

His spine softened. The riverwater began to slowly move him. Around him, Heda's lilting voice danced across the refracting waves. There was a vulnerability to that too; Anselm could not say he had sung for anyone. It required too much exposure of self, at great personal risk.

His eyes closed, opening only when the last of Heda's song trailed away. The water had moved him several inches downstream. Vho taught you to sing? Anselm wondered if that tender song had been sung for him -- or if it was something Heda needed to break the cold silence that lingered like a malaise between them sometimes.