“Hush,” the Ferryman says.
I am cocooned in my red blanket, wrapped up tight.
I cease my struggle.
I am resting on the riverbank beside a small fire. The Ferryman sits by me. My Provider is cooking something, smiling a small smile, perfectly content with how things are. Resting in faith.
Out in the water the River King moans and writhes and gnashes his teeth. He is in a place I cannot join him. I must trust that he will rise again, that he will find his way.
Behind me on the crest of the plain the Buffalo Man has returned, drawn to the scent of my resting. He squats, patiently waiting. I see from his posture that this might take a while. I close my eyes.
There is a boat coming, bringing new hope and possibility, vigor. It’s not yet in sight but it will come, nosing around the bend. It will come.
“Don’t worry,” the Ferryman says, “I won’t let it pass you by.”