To Flow or to Fly - Part 2

As his Lord, Oliver ought to have done the same. He wondered how many would be disappointed by his meekness. Whether Dominus would look down on his lack of resistance, and wonder why it was that he had not fought, even though he was so consumed by the void of the blackness that he called his enemy.

"I was defeated in advance," Oliver would have argued, if he were questioned, though he would have said so weakly, with a smile, for even the resistance of that stance held no force. There was no force to be had. It was not only the rivers that buoyed him now – it was the gentleness of the wind. He was but a leaf in it, carried beyond it.

For so long, he had looked to rivers in the same way that Dominus had. He had seen the mountain streams carve away at the rocks around them, and he had run his fingers along the erosion lines that they had left, and he had thought with wonder at their achievements.