Every hoofbeat churned the smooth-washed beach. Here along the inlet was the only place to spy incoming ships. Lee and Finn had raced them to the harbor since they were young.
But there’d been no ships. Not lately. And the men were no longer young. Still Lee noticed Finn pushed faster along this stretch. No longer a race. A retreat.
I’d fallen into a rhythmic stride en route to the dormitories, where my path led between a ridge of lamplit trees and pond reeds dusted with snow tops. That powder sifted over my route between the parking lot and campus proper would melt before morning, but it was here now, and so was I. Everyone else would be asleep at this hour, tucked away from frosted windows and clanging radiators. But here, falling into the silent rhythm of heel-toe, I left a single set of footprints behind me. Continue reading
The Wordsy 