There is a place where the river curves, and where it has curved are
broader and broader swathes of multi-colored and -layered silt-fine
mud. Blues, grays, russets, tans. Those are the colors at the end of the
The sky was dark and swollen. The wind blew crazily and shrieked.
In the cave where Christian was it howled and echoed until she spoke
quietly within herself. She anchored herself by the strength of her thoughts and
George would come along the pale ribbon road.
He could come along it when he returned. And despite the storm he
would come.
When he came he would have the ring. Her ring. Their ring.
If it took all day and all night, if it took two days, Christian would wait
in the cave, watching the road for George.