After a few days the dredging crews disappear, and the forest takes on a quiet more somber than that they have known in the past. The stream recedes into the background: one morning, in fact, they awake to find its course has shifted so that it no longer runs directly beneath the platform that supports their home. It is Know’s turn to make tea, and as it happens this is the first morning it occurs to them the house would be more comfortable with a bit of heating — they had the foresight, after the koi turned up dead, to get the stove out of storage, clean it and oil it, test it to ensure its proper operation, lay in a supply of white gas and a stock of lucifers to last through the winter. So it takes just a couple extra minutes for Know to maneuver the thing into the center of the room and get it going, opening the valve all the way, waiting for the blue of the ring, turning it down to a faint impression like a wet tumbler might leave on a counter. It is only when they register the reassuring hiss of the stove that it occurs to them some other broad-spectrum sound has been missing from the morning, and glancing out the window they see forest floor where the day before had been the stream. Wrapping themselves in a blanket and stepping out on the platform they see the waffle pattern of the reinforcement caissons on the far bank off a bit through the trees. Later in the day the two of them walk over for a look. It seems the same as it was the day before: the occasional sumi-colored carp, the broad flat bed of smoothed stones between the cement embankments, its burbling mildly changed since the reconstruction, like the huskiness that comes into a body’s voice after an operation that disturbs the larynx. They stand there for some time, neither feeling the urge either to survey the new course of the stream in one direction or another or to cross over to the far bank and see what abides there — surely just the continuation of the forest. Returning through a light rain, they find their feet covered in leeches, and they sit bowlegged under the eave at the entrance to their hut pulling these off, taking their time, occasionally glancing up as if expecting to see something hovering in the air. In fact, the monsoon brought a number of new forms of life: dragonflies, walking sticks, salamanders. These now appear to be gone, and that, more than anything else they have observed this day, seems to signal the onset of the wet.