And before and behind glimmered the eternities, and between the eternities, ever lifting, ever falling, they pulsed in vast rhythmical movement.
They were no longer humans, but rhythms.

They surged in till their paddles touched the bitter rock, but they did not know; surged out, where chance piloted them unscathed through the lashing ice, but they did not see.

Nor did they feel the shock of the smitten waves, nor the driving spray that cooled their faces.

.

.
La Bijou veered out into the stream, and their paddles, flashing mechanically in the sunshine, held her to the return angle across the river.