“I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar.” -Hoban ‘Wash’ Washburn
It seemed to come from every direction at once, whipping strands of hair into frenzied lashings against the soft skin of her throat, cold air biting at her ruby cheeks, tall grass tangling her long legs.
She leaned into it, and pushed forward, feeling the tickle of the breeze inside sleeves she pulled tight against curled palms. Relentless, it tried to make her stay still, even as she was tossed her hither and yon. She tucked her broad smile behind her teeth, afraid her giddiness would be buffeted away like a stringless kite.
The exhilaration of being amid the tempest was balanced by the joy of knowing that soon she’d be out of it. Every storm has an eye.
He had two. And they saw her with such clarity that he created calm within the tumultuous tremors of a heart too frequently broken to ever distance itself entirely from the fear that the storm was all she would know.
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