Walking On Serieve

The sun is far down, walled by woods. There is twilight and a pale sky. Wind is dying. Chill is deepening. An animal cries. A river is heard.

Laure and the two Kirkasanters stop on a rustic bridge over the foaming, clangorous river. The woods are black against dusk. The air smells wet.

A swimming creature leaps. Its scales gleam. It splashes back.

Laure walks easily in the clear gloaming but the Kirkasanters stumble even with artificial light.

And we appreciate all these details.