The Silent Current

A Tale of Trust and Departure

The morning sun spilled golden light over the rolling hills, casting long shadows from the solitary figure walking along the dirt path. Elias, a man of quiet habits and weathered hands, moved with a steady gait, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust. Behind him, his dog, a scruffy mutt named Wren, trotted faithfully, her paws pattering softly against the earth. No leash bound them; none had ever been needed. Wren’s loyalty was as constant as the sunrise, her amber eyes fixed on Elias wherever he went.

Their small wooden house stood at the edge of the village, its door ajar, as it always was when they left. No one else lived there—no wife, no children, just Elias and Wren. The village was a quiet place, nestled between fields and a winding river that shimmered under the morning light. That river was their destination today, as it often was. Elias liked its sound, the way it murmured secrets to itself as it flowed toward some unknown end.

They reached the riverbank, and Elias paused, his hands in his pockets, staring at the water. It moved with purpose, rippling over smooth stones, carrying leaves and twigs in its gentle current. Wren sat beside him, her ears perked, watching the water as if it might speak. Elias glanced down at her, his face unreadable. “Where does it start, Wren?” he asked, his voice low, almost lost in the river’s song. Wren tilted her head, her eyes meeting his, but she offered no answer. She never did.

He crouched, running his fingers through her damp fur, feeling the warmth of her beneath. Then, in one swift motion, he scooped her up and tossed her into the river. Wren let out a sharp yelp as she hit the water, her legs flailing briefly before the current took her. Elias stood, brushing his hands on his trousers, and walked on without looking back. His breath was steady, his pulse calm, as if he’d done nothing more than toss a stone.

The river carried Wren downstream, her small form bobbing in the current. Elias kept walking, his boots crunching against the path that ran parallel to the water. After a time, he heard it—the faint sound of wet paws and labored breathing. He turned to see Wren, soaked and shivering, scrambling up the bank to follow him. Her tongue lolled out, saliva mixing with river water, but her eyes were fixed on him, unwavering.

He stopped, knelt, and looked at her. She panted, waiting, her trust untouched. Without a word, he picked her up again and threw her back into the river. Another yelp, softer this time, echoed as the current swept her away. Elias turned and continued walking, the sound of the water swallowing her cry.

Minutes passed, or perhaps longer. The path curved through a copse of trees, their leaves rustling in the breeze. Then came the sound again—paws, panting, the quiet whimper of a creature pushing through exhaustion. Wren was back, her fur matted, her body trembling, but still she followed. Elias glanced at her, his expression as blank as the sky above. He bent down, lifted her once more, and tossed her into the river. The current took her swiftly this time, her small form disappearing around a bend.

Elias walked on, his head lowered, the river’s murmur filling the silence. He didn’t look back. But soon, the sound returned—fainter now, a quiet sob carried on the wind. He turned, and there was Wren, her eyes meeting his one last time. They held no anger, no accusation, only a deep, unspoken stillness. She stood there, dripping, her chest heaving, and then she turned. Not toward the house, but to a narrow path that branched off into the fields, leading nowhere Elias had ever gone.

He watched her go, her small form fading into the tall grass. The river flowed on, indifferent. Elias adjusted his cap, turned back to the path, and kept walking. The house would be empty when he returned, but it had always felt that way, even with Wren there. The river, the path, the morning sun—they would all remain, unchanged, as he moved forward alone.