The sea, deep and unkind, seems to have spit her out once more. Bloodied knees, scraped sides, and an appearance suggestive of a drowned rat-- doesn't matter. Doesn't matter, Scarlet is alive. She's made it, and that's all that matters. Running from the mainland had seemed like her only option, after all. It hadn't been her intent to let the sea take her entirely, but here she was. A bracing chill rakes down her spine, through her mane, across her back. It's a reminder. She's alive. She's alive, she's alive. Heart still pounding in her chest, oh how alive she is.
To be alive is to be afraid. The summer evening was cool, far cooler than she realized. It settled on her skin, soaking into her still sodden coat. For as much as she tried to shake it dry, there's already worry here. Already concern. All of this, and she's alone. Dreadfully, frightfully alone. A predator had pushed her to the shoreline, into the sea, and she'd been pulled away-- far. Terribly far from whatever home she'd had, turbulent as it was.
What is there for her here? As the sky bled red and the sun slipped nearer the horizon, all she could do was hope, was wait, was pray for a stroke of luck.
go little rockstar
|