The man on the bank indeed went mad, became disruptive and almost died one week after his first exposure to the mysterious river;
although, an at times boneheaded refusal, (by master interceptor standards anyway), to fully pursue the interceptor's art was probably
what insured his survival into adulthood. Now, however, he cursed the lost time and he particularly cursed his lot. It wasn't enough to
encounter the objects, an epiphany in its own right, one had to then arrange the objects in a transformative manner to convey an inkling of
the experience to the village. As the average villager's interest in the stream and its denizens had greatly waned of late -- in fact, they
were growing downright resentful -- it was becoming quickly apparent that this was a dying art...
All images and text copyright ©1996 by Mark Thornally.
Eventually, in due time...