Riverlilly HTML version

The Year One,
Fin in fin two dolphins fled through the dark. They
passed through an obliterated doorway, down a steep,
lightless shaft, then through a series of endless tunnels.
The ghostly white dolphin led the way. It had haunted
these subterranean corridors in a former life and would
never forget the design of their twists and turns.
The mountain quaked and the walls crumbled in and
collapsed, but the inseparable pair continued to navigate
the stifling labyrinth with unparalleled speed and surety.
They raced through a gaping cavern filled with eddies
of liquid fire and molten char, then through a long, dark
channel, and finally out to open water.
The sky was thick with rain. A small sea of apples
floated in the floodwater like flotsam from a sunken
ship—an orchard had lined this side of the summit less
than an hour ago. The trees were all underwater now.
As the two dolphins surveyed the extent of the
cataclysmic destruction, the Riverlilly popped up to the
surface next to them, expelled from the maze of tunnels
by the same force that shook the mountain to its core.
They gave the boat a push toward an old friend in need,
then dove to deeper waters to begin the last leg of their
journey home.