Totoka River everything in its right place

a shallow delta of the plain's river, its waters thin and flowing like molten sand, at sunset turned into bright pools of shimmering, fiery orange - as perfect a place for song as any.

he stood, chilling waters to his ankles, current gently tugging at his tassels - head raised as he sung the sun to her slumber. not with words, this time, but with barked howls, marrying the pitch of his voice with the melodies sung so often on these shores.

a bark, and another, and a third too, then a howl, sky-high then falling, into the last bark, deep as the earth, leaving room for a repeat.

and again!

and so on.

perfectly ok as a cameo! y'all know how street musicians are