I think I can still feel the sharp grass, splintering my cold feet. The wind runs her fingers through my hair, and the sea of prairie grasses sway.
I sway with it. In the distance, bare gray trees draw a line across the horizon, hiding the moon in their tangles.
I tread silently through the foliage, observing. A dull web glimmers in the dew, the carcass of a cricket rustles, and the dripping moo...