born to it

by underswansea


She had the land in her eyes, both the beauty and hardship. The mountains clear and snow topped like they were chiseled from crystal. The rivers blue in the pools, running white through canyon rocks. She realized early they considered her naught. Nor the night skies awash in stars. Still she was drawn to the coolness that could turn cold and deadly if failed to mind. Staring to the tops of trees was where she found peace. First her fingers would go numb, then her toes and cheeks, even her eyes chilled as she refused to blink. Finally she’d run back to the fire. She marveled at how easy it was. She’d clap her hands and stamp her feet in front of the flames. Sometimes the cold would hang on until morning. She hunted rabbit first, with her father, deer later, by herself, after he was gone. He always said she had two different colour eyes. Her little boy was learning to clap. It wouldn’t be long before he was following creeks, looking to the sky and feeling the chill.