land over land
creeping and crawling
creeping and crawling
Wren turned it over in her mind, imagining wide stretches of nothing but heat and sky, nowhere to hide, nowhere to pretend. "Are you going to go, uh, alone?" She asked, head tilting back straight as she watched Colt mount from the corner of her eye. Wren scratched the horse's shoulder again.
She drew in a breath and turned back to Burger, resolve threading through her nerves. Her hand slid up to the saddle, gripping tighter this time. One foot found the stirrup with an awkward reach before she pushed up, hauling herself into the seat with a determined, uneven motion. For a second, she wobbled, catching herself with a sharp inhale, then straightened. Upright. Balanced. On her own. Bruger hardly moved beneath her, the horse standing firm beneath her as if carved from stone or rooted down deep into the earth like a great tree she was to climb. Wren smiled, excitement drowning out the disbelief in her confidence. She looked up to Colt, not searching for the woman's eyes but instead looking to see how she held her reins once she was in the saddle.
Adjusting herself by mimicking what she could make her body mirror from Colt's, Wren let out another breath. It was shallow, mosly from her throat rather than her chest, and she used her shoulder to roll her plaited hair back. "I could build a sandcastle, too." She said, turning her head to look out over the rolling green of King's End. Could she survive that? Could she be that? Her life had already been stripped down once, memory torn away, identity rebuilt from fragments. Maybe that was a kind of beginning the desert understood. Maybe she wouldn’t have to explain herself there.
She drew in a breath and turned back to Burger, resolve threading through her nerves. Her hand slid up to the saddle, gripping tighter this time. One foot found the stirrup with an awkward reach before she pushed up, hauling herself into the seat with a determined, uneven motion. For a second, she wobbled, catching herself with a sharp inhale, then straightened. Upright. Balanced. On her own. Bruger hardly moved beneath her, the horse standing firm beneath her as if carved from stone or rooted down deep into the earth like a great tree she was to climb. Wren smiled, excitement drowning out the disbelief in her confidence. She looked up to Colt, not searching for the woman's eyes but instead looking to see how she held her reins once she was in the saddle.
Adjusting herself by mimicking what she could make her body mirror from Colt's, Wren let out another breath. It was shallow, mosly from her throat rather than her chest, and she used her shoulder to roll her plaited hair back. "I could build a sandcastle, too." She said, turning her head to look out over the rolling green of King's End. Could she survive that? Could she be that? Her life had already been stripped down once, memory torn away, identity rebuilt from fragments. Maybe that was a kind of beginning the desert understood. Maybe she wouldn’t have to explain herself there.
like the sea over sand
still I follow heartlines on your hand
still I follow heartlines on your hand
Wren
