When Deer came to the river, he paused. The river was deep and wide, cold enough that chunks of ice still floated within.
“River,” said Deer. “Lower your waters, that I might pass.”
“Alas, I cannot,” said the river. “I carry the snowmelt down from the mountains and out to the sea.”
“Can you not refuse the water?” asked Deer.
“I am a river. I have not the freedom animals have, to travel wherever they wish, to stop or move on a whim.”
Deer glanced backwards and listened for the hounds. “We all have that which drives us,” he said.
That Pot Or Vase I Think
1 day ago