Danny
The river line is always quieter than the forest perimeter, and I prefer it that way.
Water has a rhythm that makes sense. It moves forward, no matter what’s in its way. It doesn’t lurk. It doesn’t watch. It simply flows. Tonight the current glides over stone with a steady hush, reflecting broken streaks of moonlight across its surface. The clouds above are thin enough to let light bleed through but thick enough to dull the world into shades of silver and charcoal.
It should feel routine. It should feel safe. But for some reason, there's something I can’t quite put my finger on but it just feels off.
I run this stretch twice a week, sometimes three if rotations shift. The bend near Westfield's border is always the thinnest seam between territories, but it has never felt volatile
