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The River Gods
The rain's pouring. You can barely see the clouds through it. You can barely see anything. It's almost like walking underwater, through silver streams of air, and the ground beneath your feet is sheeted glass. The world sounds like music, like glass and strings and rain, and there! The bass, the throbbing heartbeat. The river.
They're laughing, the waters. Roaring, singing, drinking. Every drop that falls. They're pulsing, dancing, rushing beneath your feet, riding high and wild across the banks, running rapid over the bed, fierce and fast and full of earth. Laughing and running, and hands snatching sly against the ground, at your feet, drinking and devouring. For when the rain pours, and the wind howls, and the river rides high across the land, the waters are not quick to forgive. They forget, you see. They forget you are not theirs, and in their merriment do not care to check. And you are lost.
Careful now. Clear the bank, run home. For the River Gods are happy, and the night is closing fast.
A/N: I'm a child of the river, and my parents are part of a Search & Rescue organisation. Nights like this, I've seen what a river can do. It's superstitious, but I always toss brass coins from a bridge, or a tree over the water, nights like these. For the River. Just in case.
