By the river banks.

While passing by a river I saw a flash of white amongst the reeds. I stopped, frozen, my eyes darting about and latching onto a flicker of movement. I wanted to walk closer, to brush aside the reeds and find the source of the color and the rustling in the tall grass. I knew that heeding these impulses could only bode ill. So, step by step I dragged my unwilling feet away from the shore line and to safety. For no person in possession of their senses would go down to the river in the week of the Rusalka.