It was his favourite noise in the world. That rhythmic thwack of oar into water and that liquid lift when it swept up and out again. That repeated sound that wrapped its way around his heart and forced it to beat to the tune.
His breath fogged in front of him and he felt moisture droplets gathering in his eyebrows. The race was days away, the last one a disaster. He tried to imagine the crowd, digging deep on that quiet, empty river.
A woman walking a dog on the bank grinned at him with a thumbs up. He smiled.
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