Pocahontas and the River That Forgot Her Name

Long after her story was told by others, the river she once sang to turned black with silt. Fishermen say it moves against the current, dragging offerings back to shore. At dusk, they see a woman made of mist walking its edge, her lips blue, her eyes weeping ink. They call her the Keeper of Forgotten Truths. When the wind blows inland, the trees whisper her true name—one no man has written.