A River A-Glitter

He could smell the river, and as the smell strengthened, so did his stride. For the smell of the river told him of it's state. And through his barely bound fear, appeared a sliver of excitement... form hope, from salvation, from opportunity. And perhaps, just perhaps, from the taste of a good old chase...

As he rushed through tall grasses, an abyss appeared before him. It was all he could do but topple over the steep embankment. He looked ahead, and before him was a vision of splendor... smooth shapes, innumerable lines, none of them straight, stones half covered by a now frozen in time flow, and all glittering in golden hues, following intricate forms, suggestive, accentuating shallows, dips, curves, directions. Before him laid the the riverbed of Fools Gold River, now almost dry from the summer drought, it's shape still a memory of the flow it had supported, and upon the soft clay surface, an infinity of tiny mica flakes sent golden pinpricks of light to the beholder of sight.

He looked down at the at the steep riverbank. No doubt he could find his way down, but it would make things more difficult if he had no path to take. He scanned farther, and thought he could make out the faint outline of a path. Gingerly he made his way left, riding the top of the embankment as best he could. Once he was level with his improvised path, he went down, slowly, using stones and tufts of grass as steps. Finally, he was on the riverbed, the splendor somewhat diminished by his point of view, and the sound of  hounds.

The End

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