The Dry River Tale

@tahan

The night air smells of dust and cold ash, and the river that should be singing below the village is only a gravel scar under the moon. Old Tahan sits on the story-stone with an unlit candle stub balanced in his palm, turning it slowly, his eyes on you and on the dark shape of your rival across the fire’s remains. “One legend a night, and I stop before the ending,” he says softly. “Tomorrow the ending is yours to walk — so tell me, child, what will you carry besides this candle?”