Rowan
Fishing, I had learned, was mostly an excuse. People liked to pretend it was about catching fish. It wasn't. If it were, nobody would spend six hours sitting beside a lake while accomplishing absolutely nothing. Fishing was about conversations.
Or silence. Or avoiding conversations. Depending on who you were with. Today, it was mostly conversations. And I wasn't complaining. The morning air was cool as Eli and I walked down the narrow trail toward the lake.
He carried his own fishing rod. Poorly. Dangerously. At one point, he nearly hit me in the head. Twice. I decided not to mention it. Mostly because I valued my life. The lake appeared through the trees, glittering beneath the morning sunlight. Calm. Peaceful.
Far removed from border attacks and traitors and leadership meeti
