Silver Creek Silvermoon

Around midnight - some called it the witching hour - Mag moved along the edge of the plateau and south, finding an eventual route along the side of a sleepy river.

The frogs were quiet. There were no birds calling except the empty hoot of a distant owl. The river whispered as it moved along. It was peaceful.

She stopped along its edge to drink and to inspect the jade moss woven between (and across) stones, nosing between tall reed shafts in the process.

Mag was stunned to find that the river wasn't just a river. She had followed it to where the water emptied upon a sprawling lake! With the bare light of the transitional moon overhead, the surface was like a silver mirror, filled with starlight.

It took her breath away.