His River

He liked to think of it as His river,walking along its banks in the late afternoon with the flurry of mosquitoes in the air. He would go alone and keep himself distant from the others, so that he would have a moment to think about his affairs. He was still young, even for those parts where realities sword penetrates early,and perhaps overly assured having been the youngest in his tribe. His brothers would often tease him of being a momas boy, and his everlasting baby face was no help.
For now the River was his, and so he continued to meander its shores and consider his dreams.