Ryan Carrasco

Weaver

Weaver By Ryan Carrasco A slim shadow danced over the rooftops of the Greenways. It was morning, and a Singer had just arrived. Cool clouds crawled over the Broadmount, spilling down gracefully toward the riverlands, but Delray preferred listening to looking. He pondered at the vanishing silence that came with nearing a bustling mountain town. Three alpine streams tumbled into a brisk calm, slowing into the mouth of the great Oerland River. The growing din of the waking townsfolk sat atop the softer rush of the river. Neither sound was loud or intrusive, but taking one away would insert a startling emptiness. A void. A silence only noticed because of what it replaced.