Hour 22:00, somewhere around mid-June, 1966.

It's a wonder what one can do with a couple of leaves to hide. What one learns from living in silence for so long. The arrogance of walking loudly has now transformed to subdued footfalls--quiet is currency here. Dieter snags a broad leaf from a tree, curling it concave to create a sort of pseudo-bowl. He lowers himself down to the riverbed and, ever-so-gently, presses the edge of the bowl into the rushing currents.

Dieter glances around, throat dry and heart longing for a sounding board to talk to. Alas, no dice.

The bush adjacent to him shudders. Dieter crouches lower, free hand drawing his makeshift knife.