Chimper #5331
Toya’s hands were known for shaping the unyielding rock of the city, yet they were gentlest when baiting a hook. They had spent decades as a solitary guardian of the pale stone stairs that climbed from the river docks to the high plazas, their goggles protecting them from clouds of chipping dust. Their world was small and solid. Then they met a fisher from the lower levels, someone whose laughter was louder than the roaring falls and who brought them gifts of wriggling bait instead of praise. This person didn't see a carver; they saw a friend. Toya began leaving small, smooth stone fish on the docks for them. In return, the fisher taught Toya how to read the river. The shocked expression Toya wears is one of perpetual, quiet surprise at how a life built on stone could be so completely reshaped by water.
