Rivla flips her tail and hurls a wide splash down the Yamuna. The ripple rolls to a lotus pad—*plink*—and a frog bounces skyward. "CROAK!"
The same ripple tips a child's clay bucket by the mud-brick wall. "Pa! The river's talking!" Rivla paddles faster, nose up, following every bend.
Thunder cracks. The Yamuna surges, white and roaring. Rivla paddles hard, but the river grips her tail and tugs. *No—home is that way!*
Rivla kicks, splashes—three big whirls won't release her. Past the lotus pond. Past the mud-brick homes. The willows are very far behind now.
The water goes quiet. Rivla drifts, wide-eyed, into a slow bend. A turtle blinks up from under a willow root. A frog rides a leaf toward shore.
The river curves soft, like a hand under her belly, steering her back. Rivla stops paddling. She lets the water carry her.
The willow strings drip long over the bank. The current slows to a whisper. Rivla paddles once. *Slap.* Once more. *Slap.* Stillness.
She floats, right at the willow roots, where the water sits still and shallow. Rivla's whiskers twitch. Home.
"Rivla!" The child splashes into the shallows by the mud-brick steps. The turtle glides close. The frog hops onto her back and chirps. "We were counting on you, little river-talker."
Rivla curls her tail around the willow root and hums. Below the surface, the Yamuna hums back.
