A tiny shift in the tone of the water-clock's trickle told River it was time to return to the Eighth Gate; and so he did, with the same patient and deliberate pace as the cycle before, and all the cycles before that.
And, once the Gate's great maw to the world below loomed before him, River took up his post, lantern-staff and lance in fleshless hands, and watched.
Watched, and waited for the stone bell to return; for even the dead can weary of their assignments.