The Bridge over the river (snow on the rails)

They passed all the unintentional chaotic acts along the streets, lending them a quiet eye, a nod and continued to walk on. It went smoothly and they remained in the shadows unnoticed except when they spilled with the dark under the streetlights. The city street morphed quietly into the bridge and they followed the bridge over, looking up periodically to watch for the things that hung from its beams, and its rails were empty except for a large lion who was known to walk its beams at night when it could not sleep. The lion, like most of the foreign creatures was an acquaintance of Wolf, and Bear knew him too. He was pacing slowly up and down the rail, with such ease you’d think there were nets below the bridge to catch a misplaced paw. They walked slowly past him, and waited until he recognized them. Wolf was always afraid of startling him, fear the river would swallow him. It was a long way down. It was a decent bridge, and the river that ran below it was no small river. The river, was too close to the ocean, and it often roared in defiance of being trapped by only a few miles of land, it felt how near the sea was and wanted it. For a river, it raged, with or without rocks to beat itself against in defiance. Lion was walking in the opposite direction, headed west, as they were, and they walked slowly towards him with loud footsteps, waiting to be recognized.
He stopped and turned his head slowly over his shoulder casually to see who was walking on his bridge. There were no tolls, but there was a required recognition. It was necessary to meet his eye before you continued on your way, once seen. “Arcane? Bart?”
“Hey, Snow.” Arcane answered slowly.
“What you doing out?”
Wolf stopped and let out a dramatic sigh, “why’s everyone I run into tonight actin’ like they haven’t seen me in years? It’s as though I turned into a ghost. I was in the center of the city only half a moon ago. I’m no ghost.”
Snow wasn’t amused, “but maybe you’re a magician of sorts,” he said. Snow rarely put much effort into anything other than the river, even dinner was secondary, and he was known for his lackadaisical philosophies. Snow turned to Bear, “she’s in a mood, eh?”
Bear shrugged.
Wolf jumped onto the beam with careful stealth and looked over the rail beside Snow. Bear joined them on his hind legs, paws bracing the rail and they watched the river below.
“The river is wild and fierce tonight,” Wolf said without thinking, the way your thoughts travel loudly if you become lost and forget yourself.
“I love Alphredes,” Bart said. Bear was fond of the river and fished there daily for dinner.
“It is never the same,” Snow said lazily.
“Is that why you walk the rails when you can’t sleep, Snow?”
He collapsed like a poem on the beam and lay his head on his paws, staring in the river, “it is never the same,” he said again.
Wolf always wanted to tell Snow that one of her favorite things in the ‘verse was the way he walked the bridge’s beams at night and watched the river, his wonder never tiring, but she knew that Snow knew. It’s the sort of thing you can show someone with your eyes, and words will only ruin it and make the wonder less real. Quiet was one of the few things that Wolf understood well. She found that most wolves she’d come across understood it.
They got lost in the river. It was a common love. It was the real heart of the city and without it life would be impossible. It was their balance.
“Do you ever talk to the things in the river, Bear?” Snow asked as he stared out into the black water roar.
“No, we don’t talk really, but sometimes, when my head is underwater and I am looking for someone to eat, I hear them talking, to each other, and sometimes they even talk about me, ‘what is that ugly thing?’ they say, or they’ll laugh as they brush against my wavy fur in the water.”
“What else do they say?”
“They talk about where they’re going, a lot. That’s what I usually hear anyway.”
“Do they have feelings?”
“The fish?”
“Yes, the things in the water.”
“Oh, yes, they do, absolutely.”
“I always wondered if they did.“ Snow said, giving pause to the idea, “then why do you eat them instead of the ones who live in the town?”
“Because I don’t know them, or their friends, and because I don’t care about their feelings.”
Snow sighed as she gazed, “that makes sense.”
“I guess,” Bear said, “as much as anything else.”
They were lost in the river.
Wolf spent many nights walking the beams for hours with Snow, on her brave nights, when falling in the river was either impossible, or irrelevant.
“I’m in love with the river,” Bear said quietly.
“You can’t be in love with it,” Snow said.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s mine,” and he glared at Bear without thinking.
Bear wasn’t afraid, but curious. Bear didn’t understand fear. It wasn’t something he was capable of, for better or worse. It was one of the things Wolf admired in him.
“It isn’t yours.”
“Oh, yes, Bear, it is mine.”
Bear laughed, seeing the serious way Snow’s eyes shined about the river.
“Oh, Snow,” he said full of smiles, “I think it must be ours.”
Snow thought about it, but didn’t answer. It was too much trouble. Even his river wasn’t worth arguing over.
The river trance was broken with talk of possession, “let’s go, Wolf.”
“Huh?”
“Let’s get going,” Bear said.
“Right, let’s get going.” Wolf echoed.
“Snow?”
“Do you know what people are?”
“I’ve heard about them,” he said gazing at the black.
“What would you do if they came back?”
“I would maim them, and let the river eat them.”
“You would?”
“Pitiful offering, isn’t it?”
“Maybe not. You wouldn’t eat them?”
“No, I would never eat anything that talks with its mouth open.”
“Oh.”
“I would give them to the river,” he said.
“Let’s go,” Bear said again.
“Right, let’s go.”
And as they headed west, Snow smiled in their absence, happy to be alone again with his river.