Cedar Sweep like carillon bells, the house of Augustus rings

Gentle sun dappled the leaves of a thousand cedars, rustling the trees a gentle breeze. Beneath the sweeping leaves, far above the ground, a mother sparrow fed her children with what she could scavenge that day. Their incessant peeps only stifled by food in their bellies, then starting again as their father came swooping up onto a nearby branch.

He too, would feed their hungry little mouths. Such was survival.

And from the quiet dimple of the riverbank, where a muddy hallow became water, Passerine, dappled like the leaves, rustled like the trees, watched the small family with something akin to envy. She was quick to tear away her eyes, to focus on the river.

And more importantly, her mark, who had entered the water and never came out, it seemed. With a mental sigh, she cut the thread on that contract, and resigned herself to never being able to go back the way she’d come. For a brief moment, she mourned faces that had almost been familiar, before she shook it away. She strode into the river instead, ducking her head to take from its bursting banks, while also allowing the mud to be washed from her legs.