Fay sat down on the beach where the mud turned to grit.
She pulled out a strip of jerky and a heel of bread, then stared at the river as if the waves might tell her what her own mind would not.
A waterskin rested in her lap. She drank, swallowed, and kept watching.
All the while her fingers worried the silk thread. Not even thinking about it, just clutching it like it was the last true thing she owned.
Like if she let go, the memory would go with it.
Radeon understood then. It was not the river water. She had not been foolish enough to drink from it.
It was the rations. Bread and jerky had gone damp with river water when she dove down.
Droplets carried no rot her tongue could name, no poison that burned the gut.
Murmurs could not affect her through the Heavenly Dao's protection.
But forgetfulness was not a whisper you could shut out. It was a rule.
A bone deep law that the Underworld River obeyed, the same as water obeyed its fall.
