RADHA why did love put a gun in my hand?
she washes onto the shore of the crossing like a stray piece of driftwood. her body heaves with the effort it takes to pull herself from the waves and to stand on shaky legs, to slough the brine from her chapped skin. but she still moves with feline grace, even salt-soaked and bone-tired; she still moves like a woman trained for murder, for war, for the tides that are made of sand and not water.
the thicket was not a terrible place to live, though she haunted it's corners like a ghost. avoiding the shadow of ruger's misplaced anger - was she not only there because he wanted more mouths to feed, more women to warm his bed? there had been few words exchanged when she had first met him, but that was all she needed to know his true intentions. His intentions were as clear to her as a cloudless autumn sky.
it made the falls that more appealing; to escape the confines of the thicket, to escape being there and not there. that was why she had walked into gentle waves of the water around the falls. she was knee deep before she lowered her muzzle to take a long drink and settling in to watch the others that passed it's edges.
"SPEECH"
the ghost of the thicket
|