Lincoln's legs moved in a rhythmic lope beneath him, the air of the incoming night cool against his face. To his left gushed a river, swollen beyond its banks by the season's precipitation. And to his right, through the quickly-passing silhouettes of the trees, loomed a great mountain range that he dare not challenge. But the river — that was a different story. He'd set out to follow its current long before the sun's warmth had dissipated, because rivers always ended up somewhere, and he needed that. Somewhere.
He heard the falls before he saw them. Normally he would have been prime to rush to the edge and peer over it, but this time he stopped. For a moment he caught his breath and observed a white figure on the rocks, obscured by the spray of the falls. They seemed at peace, ghostly in the vapor, and he didn't blame them for choosing this spot to rest. But alas, curiosity called to him and he reciprocated, letting out a boof that was hopefully loud enough to be heard over the water.
He heard the falls before he saw them. Normally he would have been prime to rush to the edge and peer over it, but this time he stopped. For a moment he caught his breath and observed a white figure on the rocks, obscured by the spray of the falls. They seemed at peace, ghostly in the vapor, and he didn't blame them for choosing this spot to rest. But alas, curiosity called to him and he reciprocated, letting out a boof that was hopefully loud enough to be heard over the water.