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The River

from Garden by Nanohex

/

lyrics

On the bank of the russet river, one foot on the sinewy tangle of roots that stuck out, he watched a mass of mud and branches rush down and out of sight. Bubbles of air burst on the stains of mud which sometimes flecked the river surface, giving the impression the water was boiling hot, but the hunter knew, even without dipping a toe, that he'd freeze if he wasn't out of it quickly.

There was no other place, this had to be it. Where the mountain had hidden the seed.

He took off his boots, jacket, and pants, and dove headfirst in.

The cold water almost stopped his heart. He swam against the current to strain his muscles to heat up, his arms beating the river and splashing water into his eyes, then he turned and made for the narrow strip of mud which split the river in two. Waves splashed into his face, water filling his ears, eyes, and mouth, but he persisted, swimming sideways into the rushing stream, cutting into the waves, skirting whirlpools which would've pulled him underwater as if yanked by the ankle, and when almost out of breath, when muscle was about to tear from bone, his hand clutched the reeds of the river island. He pulled himself up, out of the water.

He dried in the wind, arms wrapped around himself, longingly watching his clothes across half a river flap on the branches on which he'd hung them.

Clouds whirled above.

Once he got his breath back, he began to dig. With hands like claws he tore through the mudflat island in the middle of the deafening river, digging in the grime for the nugget he so wanted. He excavated wormy earth by the handful, squeezing his fist for any hardened matter, throwing the mudballs into the river. He dug, clawed, nails tearing off his fingers, all the while an unrelenting wind stung his face.

When the hole was a forearm's length deep, his hand touched something more consistent than mud. He closed his fist and pulled, like ripping out a root, and knew he had what he'd come to unearth because right then the mountain gave off a resounding roar.

In the palm of his hand he held the coveted nugget. Brought to the eye, and he could see clearly through the filth smeared on it, not reflected but trapped within like a raindrop, his own face staring back.

His death print.

He had little time for awe, so clutching his chunk of gold, he dove back into the now-swollen river and swam to shore, barely making it to his clothes.

credits

from Garden, released May 25, 2017

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Kalpamantra UK

Dark ambient digital
label, circa 2009.

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