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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2023-12-31 19:55:05 -08:00
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writing/post-self/motes/003.md
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@ -6,4 +6,16 @@ Today, she sought out all of the best ways to move. There were times when all fo
Today, she listened hard, head constantly turning to build a better view of the sonic landscape of the world around her. She hunted for the rustle of branches, of footsteps, of breath. Today, her eyes were keen, her gaze sharp, flitting about to hunt for the slightest movement or out-of-place shadow.
And then there it was: the shadow. The one she knew had been tracking her. The one she had felt but not seen. The one whose footsteps were too quiet to be heard and yet which nonetheless trod the ground behind her.
Instinct took over, and Motes ran.
She ran straight forward, at first, for there was a clearing ahead of her and relatively little brush between it and her and although there was a tree smack in the middle of her path, there was space enough to either side of it to slip by without having to turn too sharply, without having to slow her headlong dash.
She ran straight forward and then, just before she actually reached the clearing, juked suddenly to the right.
It had to be a trap. It *had* to be a trap. She knew her pursuer. She knew it well. She knew they would have planned for this vision of a clearing. She knew — and she kicked herself for knowing too late — that she had been subtly guided this way, toward this clearing, toward this meadow of deceptively open space, of shin-high yellow-green grass and bobbing columbines.
Behind her, a growl, sharp and clear in the overbright air, confirmed her guess.