Hulsent

The last trickle had flowed away, leaving stranded drops clinging to now uncovered pebbles and roots. A nutboat wobbled, then gently settled on its side, to rest on the bottom of the gorge.

All had gathered on the upriver side of the branch, and a silence had fallen. Some turned away, eyes tightening. In the distance a shadow formed a band across the horizon, between the towering trunks.

The inhabitants of the valley had known this was coming, yet its consequences this morning still hit hard. Juloham felt a clenching in his chest, and he cursed the injustice of the forest, of life in general. He wanted to rage and scream, but a numbness held him still.

A family of beavers had built their dam, deaf to the outcries of all who lived along the river, some now left without water. In spite his despair, Juloham held a thought for the families that used to live behind the dam: they had had no choice but to evacuate, and whole villages now lay under the surface.

One by one or in small groups the others left to their homes. Many would start packing.

Juloham stood a long time, without thought, his gaze fixed on the dam’s patch of darkness that used to be skyline.