The trees thinned the nearer to the river he grew, and the light of the moon managed to break through. Beam glanced at it, noting that it was full. It radiated a golden light, whereas often it tended to appear silver. Beam noted that too, wondering if an omen from the skies could allow his thoughts to transform, and send him in a new direction of thought, so that he might find that which he was looking for.
The river's water ran black as Beam neared it. Fast flowing, for the most part, aside from a small pocket of stillness where the rocky bank angled and the current could not penetrate. Listlessly, Beam put his hand in the water, allowing the strong current to take hold of it, dragging it along in its flow.
He noted the ripples along the current. Where the water sloshed over rocks and made bigger waves, each one different from the last. He felt the river's indomitable adaptive power as it ran, and he wondered if he could take anything from its strength and make it his own.
