A black river, a frozen country
There is no road here. Only the water.
A black river threads the frozen taiga, and somewhere ahead it turns wild. You step off the bank onto the ice and let the current choose the way.
The bank
The shore closes behind you.
The banks draw in. The taiga drinks the last of the light. Beside you the current quickens — black, silent, faster than it looks. Every bend takes you somewhere colder, harder to come back from.
The rapids
The water turns against you.
What walked beside you stands up and roars — whitewater breaking white over black rock, spray freezing on your sleeves. The river isn’t carrying you now. It’s testing you, stroke by stroke.
Under
And then the river takes you.
One step too close. The ice gives. The current has you — no breath, no up, no down, just the cold slamming everything white. The surface is a pane of light somewhere above, and it’s getting smaller.
Stillness
The water lets go, and the world goes still.
The torrent spends itself and the roar just stops. The river widens into a still lake, the sky cracks with sun, and the light pours down and scatters across the water. You surface face-up, breathing, drifting. It carried you here all along.
Make it yours