She glanced again toward the darkening edge lost in the sparkling curtains of mist. Distant sunset sent fractured rainbows arrowing through the fog like the feathered serpents that climbed the Wall from the Mesoamerican extents far below. That edge could claim her, give her sanctuary, free her heart in a long, lonesome moment that would only hurt briefly.
Not like the daily pain of her life, which seemed to never end.
The only thing which kept her moving was the heavens.
Not God, not Her heaven. Zarai had never had much use for the old lady and Her works. Women were made to be in the world, and the world was made to be in. What care where it came from and why?
It was the stars which drew her on in the time since 'nix had gone.
|Originally published at jlake.com.|