Evening

One second. Two. She waits three until she follows. A steady pace at first, just enough to bring her into the edge, where the stragglers stumbled at the bite of stone and thorns—the most vulnerable. Enough to temper the pain.

Then quicker; quicker now. The gap closes in the middle. All funneled together in the spine of mountains rising up. A pass towards the west. Chasing clouds and salt and the ozone flooding her palate.

Closer still. A burst makes her glance off another in a shower of sparks. Each meeting blooms embers to sputter in brush. Scattering ash in her wake. It is the only way to get ahead, to the front, where the air is sweet.

Just as the sky bleeds blue, they branch off into a dozen stems, stepping into the valley. Dodging rumbling metal and kindling, tar bakes her soles, noise drowning her in a downpour—a new enemy.