Before the market woke, Grandfather led the boys down to the river.
Steve yawned behind his towel.
Kynthos skipped two steps, then stumbled, then skipped again.
The water below them looked silver in the dawn.
Steve knelt and touched the water with one finger.
He pulled it back at once.
"It's freezing."
Kynthos peered over his shoulder.
"Maybe we should come back when the sun is higher."
Grandfather stepped into the river without hurrying.
Water curled around his calves.
"That is exactly why we came now," he said.
Steve stared. "Why would anyone choose the cold?"
Grandfather turned back toward them.
"Because a little hardship chosen on purpose teaches you that discomfort is not danger."
Steve made a face. "It still feels like danger."
"Then breathe first," Grandfather said. "Decide second."
Steve stepped in.
The cold shot up his legs so fast he almost leapt back out.
Kynthos grabbed Grandfather's hand and followed more carefully.
"One breath," Grandfather said. "Then another."
They stood still and counted to ten.
The river was still cold.
But it was no longer a surprise.
Steve unclenched his jaw.
Kynthos blinked. "It got warmer."
Grandfather smiled. "No. You got calmer."
After that, washing was easy.
Steve splashed water on his shoulders.
Kynthos laughed and splashed water everywhere else.
Even Grandfather laughed when the water hit his cloak.
On the walk home, a sharp wind came down from the hills.
Kynthos tucked his chin into his towel.
Steve pulled his towel close, then smiled a little.
"This is nothing," he said. "The river was colder."
They kept walking.
Grandfather said nothing. He only nodded.
That evening Steve scratched on his wax tablet.
Kynthos leaned over the table.
"Is it about the river?"
"Yes," Steve said. "And the wind."
