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|Saturday's Child (standard:drama, 2169 words)|
|Author: Sare||Added: Nov 05 2001||Views/Reads: 2231/1446||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|What power do our dreams have to shape our lives? How much say do we have?|
It was November. October’s snow had melted away, and the air was crisp and electric: new snow was on its way. The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky as they led their horses up the steep incline, laughing. “Hey, Em,” he called back to her. “Yeah?” She sidestepped a large rock and looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun with the hand holding the horse’s lead. “Did you bring the camera?” “Um... I think so.” She smiled sheepishly. “I’m not sure, though.” “Okay. We’ll look when we get up there.” “How much farther is it, Fynn?” “Not too much farther. Is Ophelia holding up okay?” “Yeah... She’s all right.” Soon they reached the top of the small hill and paused to let the horses rest and to catch their own breath. Fynn put his arm around Emily’s shoulder and held her close to him. He pointed across the lake. “See, that’s the channel,” he said. “I see it. You ready to keep going?” “Yes, let’s go.” Emily clambered up onto Ophelia’s back and watched Fynn mount Storm. No matter how many times she watched him, she was always stunned by the naturalness of it, his leg swinging over the horse’s back as though it were an extension of his own body. The great horse bowed her head as Fynn ascended, and Emily thought Storm somehow seemed happier with Fynn astride her. Fynn led the way, often letting Storm break into a gallop. Emily was frightened of the rocky terrain, afraid for the horses, but Ophelia’s muscles flowing beneath her thighs quickly assuaged her fears. The horses knew this ground as well as Fynn did, they would be fine. She threw back her head and felt the wind rip through her hair. Emily looked down at the lake. The sun shone across the surface, illuminating the water almost as though the light were inside it. She felt their pace slowing and looked up to find Fynn staring at her. “Fynn?” she called to him, “what’s wrong?” “Nothing, Em. We’re almost there.” They walked the horses through the last hundred meters, then climbed down. Emily stood looking about her in awe. “Oh, Fynn, it’s so beautiful... it’s perfect... exactly as you described it and just as I dreamed it...” They stood on a large, flat rock, their backs to the edge. Ahead of them, behind the rock, was the forest through which they had come, where the few leaves that still clung to the trees were a riot of reds and golds. Ophelia and Storm were nosing about in the fallen leaves, sniffing at the underbrush. When she turned round, Emily saw the unobstructed view of the lake, crystal clear in the sunshine. The almost-sheer face of the cliff on which they stood fell away to the lake. “Oh, Fynn, it’s so wonderful,” she said to him, turning to face him. He put both hands on her shoulders to draw her close to him, his strong arms pulling her, unresisting, against his broad chest. They stood in silence a few moments, then Emily twisted her head up to smile at him. “On with the fantasy,” she said, laughing. “Yes, my love, on with the fantasy. It’s yours, tell me what to do...” “Well... you can lay out the blanket... I’ll get the tea ready.” Within a few minutes everything was ready to her satisfaction. Fynn sat down on the blanket and Emily lay down beside him, on her side, her head in his lap, both of them facing the lake. Click here to read the rest of this story (194 more lines)
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