He slipped into the riparian zone where land leans into water, and everything glistens like it’s keeping a secret. Berries blushed at him from their brambles, sugars shifting by the day, acids sharpening depending on their mood. Peter tasted them anyway. He always did. Then the wild sorrel caught his eye—sharp, tart, and not afraid to bite back. It tingled on his tongue, oxalic acid and attitude both hitting at once. The riverbank felt alive, charged, almost flirtatious, as if the whole ecosystem were daring him to wander deeper.