could purchase no more breath but she possessed desire and
decision unmatched, a spirit rare indeed her
fury and she ran.
dark sodden skirts clung to her legs. Weighted
they were in league with knobby claws of roots
and branches of drowned trees at river's edge
who sought to plead their tales of woe and
pure injustice to her, to
delay her until it was too late. She
forbade them, gave them nothing, but
she was too late.
The cry could not escape Esme(e) in the winter's dawn,
the brink of tide and eddy. She saw a strand
of red hair traced across a snag glimpsed a
moment only. No 1 could be sure of it except