There was a river that scholars tried to chart from its source to its mouth.
Each bend behaved impeccably when measured locally.
Each confluence made sense — here a current, there a resistance.
But every complete map contradicted itself.
Some maps showed the river looping back upstream.
Others showed it ending before it began.
A few suggested the river flowed only when observed.
Liora waded in ankle-deep and felt the pull of the water.
It did not care about maps.
It responded only to her weight, her step, her hesitation.
Later, when asked where the river really went, she said:
“Wherever you are willing to stand in it.”
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