The water was calm, with puffs of mist that clung to the surface like silk.
The shore was pleasantly warm and damp, a green hillside that ended in a wall of fog.
She turned and looked at the bank, biting her lip in thought.
“How about this one?” the ferryman asked, but he’d learned to read her looks, and knew what she would say.
“I’m sorry, but this isn’t my afterlife.” He paddled back into the vast river. They had visited hundreds of spots, but he would carry her as long as it took for her to find her home.

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