*Darius*
He kept finding himself at the window.
Not the working window — the river one. The one that faced the sound of the territory's best thing, that he had checked before she arrived to confirm it was the right window, that she had stood at on their first real morning together and confirmed was the best view.
The window where he had held her hand on the roof and looked at the stars and felt, through the bond, something new arrive.
The window where the river went, regardless.
He kept finding himself standing at it and not working, which was unusual. He was a man who worked at windows. Who thought best with something moving in the periphery, some evidence of continuation. The river served this. It had served it for as long as he could remember.
Now he stood at it and thought about
