I lay face down at the edge of the water, hands outstretched in a desperate plea to remain on solid ground. My labored breaths are drowned out by the river behind me. Moonlight fills this space, the only other light a single golden ray—some settlement on the forest edge, bound to have a warm hearth. With my luck, the owner will turn me in quicker than my boots can dry.

For now, I will rest here on the river bank, soft as gravel. In the darkness, the pebbles remind me of coffee beans—the ones father sent me to gather from the drying patios when I was a boy. Eventually I will have to run away, just like I did that night so long ago.

But for now, I rest. For now, I will breathe in the mist of the river and imagine the smell of coffee on the wind.