East bank, job unfinished.

The Painted Staff would take a penny and call you a guest. You are not a guest in your own crossing. The ridge would take your feet. Holmewell would take the day.

Osric’s pole, in your head, taps stone, then nothing.

You can carry news of the river to the shrine: a useful pilgrim, a helper who left the hole.

You can go back and make Lynford into a system: shore, ferry, marks, beds.

Hawte would let you eat. Eating is not shoring. You can carry the river’s news to Holmewell like a letter. You can be the letter Lynford needed. Osric cannot walk. The pole can, if you carry it.

The Painted Staff’s door breathes stew. Stew is not a cutwater. You keep that sentence until it is boring.