The Whispering Stream
The further they followed the winding stream, the more the world around them seemed to hold its breath. The usually talkative birds were quiet, and even the river’s babble had hushed to a conspiratorial whisper. Caleb paused, listening, half-expecting the water to divulge its secrets.
Monica knelt, her hand skimming the surface, sending ripples across the glassy veneer. Jason kept watch, his eyes a testament to the growing dread that perhaps the river knew more of the figure’s fate than it would ever let on.