(Ultima Ratio Regum)
Leaping from a clay slope knobbled by sheep tracks and slips, ledges tufted with grass, into a deep murky green water hole. Moments to salute before curling up into a cannonball. Hit the surface and pass though the first tepid layer where it's still light before meeting the frore current moving below. Down and down until jolted to the river-floor Wait there wondering how deep and think about the eels. Had they been frightened away by the rock throwing ceremony? Then spring open pushing against the curdled silt and misshapen river stones. They grit against each other and silently slip away to rest. Up and up the tepid layer is now, for a moment, warm when bursting, rescued, into the wind.