The Ferryman's Toll
1 min read
an oar dips into black water
The ferry across the old river runs at night for those who hail it, the ferryman silent, his face in shadow. The fare is a single coin, paid at the far bank. Those who have no coin are told the crossing is free — this once. They are never seen on either shore again. Carry a coin near deep water, the old folk say, and never accept a free crossing.