Those who are dead are not dead

"Speech"

The boy's head remained bowed for a while, never taking much notice of anything else other than the calmed water. Perhaps his father wouldn't have passed away if these very waters had been tranquil upon that day. Just one day. That's all he wanted. He wouldn't have drowned, swallowed by the treacherous and merciless Rapids. Water - he loathed it. Why did it have to be water? A substance seemingly harmless yet so dangerous that one's life can be taken? Feeling his mind burn with rage, a rumbling growl erupted through clenched teeth as he jerked his head upwards, unable to observe the water any longer without completely losing control. For a moment, anger was all that was printed upon his features, until it all melted into an astonished stare. Had that calico stranger always been there? The fact that the stranger was able to silently slip into the water, presumably watching for a while, all without the younger male noticing surprised and creeped him out. But why was he calling him a stranger? Though they have never met, and never will in the land of the living, they knew each other very well. Of course, the yearling had never seen his father, even though his mother had once attempted to describe him. For some reason, he just knew the older man was his father. Though neither of them shared the same pelt or eye colour (however, the neon gaze reminded him of his brother), it was the atmosphere that brought him the odd notion. Besides, who else would visit him in his dreams? "Dad?" The word was stuck in his throat as he tried to choke it out, almost slipping with his knees buckling beneath his shuddering weight.