‘The night is beautiful,’ Amber said at last. ‘And we are beautiful in the night. There is a moon somewhere above us. It makes the fog gleam silver. Here and there, my eyes find bits of you. A row of silver droplets hung on a line stretched tight. Or the fog breaks for an instant, and the moon shines our way up the river. You move so smoothly and sweetly. Listen. There is the water against your bow, purring like a cat, and the wind shushes us along. The river is so narrow here, it is as if we knife through the forest, parting trees to let us pass. The same wind that pushes us stirs the leaves
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