Of Keen Gaze

The ferryman refused their coin and custom.

Their argued the weather was fair, and the river itself ran low due to unnaturally dry spring they had. He did not argue, but nodded and said they were correct.

They pulled at their jackets, murmuring, while the ferryman sat like a coiled rope on on his raft. He pulled an apple from his satchel. The sound of his teeth piercing the fruit’s skin echoed across the water. Downriver, a heron emerged from the reeds on stilted legs eyed them worryingly.

Beyond the hills on the opposite bank, the din of battle rose.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s