The next morning arrived clear and bright.
After the rain, the entire valley seemed washed clean. The sky was a deep blue without a single cloud, and sunlight reflected off the Silverstream like scattered pieces of glass.
John woke earlier than usual.
For some reason, he wasn't tired.
He quietly left the inn before anyone else had come downstairs.
The village was still asleep.
Only a few chimneys released thin trails of smoke into the cool morning air.
John walked toward the bridge.
The wooden planks were still damp from yesterday's rain, and small droplets clung to the railing.
He rested his arms on the wood and looked down at the river.
The water moved steadily beneath him, calm but never completely still.
"...You really do carry everything away, don't you?"
He wasn't sure why he said it aloud.
Maybe because the river reminded him of time.
No matter what happened, it kept moving forward.
A soft rustling sound came from behind him.
John turned.
