Pocket of Journey

She whisked along the frog-torn path, long dress clanking against the leaves. Her shrouded shoulders heaved with the sighing bag of logs, her fingers scrambling to hold the straps. Any moment now she felt like she would fall and her intrepid journey would cease to be. So she continued on steadily, not halting for a moments fragment lest she pause and never start again. The hard wear of material pushed against her back, hiding the callous logs from her feeling. be enough.

Suddenly she came to a drop in the cliff face she had been climbing, a suspended bridge holding the only way across. She could see the rocky outcrop playing different from the forest surroundings behind her. In the stories her mother used to speak, the bridge would break and the heroine would be left hanging, flaming arrows flying around them. But this wasn’t a story, there was no one chasing her and fire was all but non-existent in her dire world.

Fearlessly she pushed on, stepping with subtle caution over the rigid planks of wood. They held her easily, only one daring to creak in her footing. She didn’t pause, as she had been told, though fear gripped her heart and almost suspended her in the spot. The edge came with a sigh from her, her feet finding ground on the uneven surface.

Behind her the bridge did not sway in the wind, though she did not turn to see. To look back would be to go back.

She pushed on up the winding path, feet twisting over the rock. She didn’t dare think about slipping, only about going higher and higher.

Warily she gained height, her breath drawing smaller and smaller, gasps coming quick. Clouds danced above her head, signalling the end was still far off. Many times she almost moved her eyes to see the travels she had paced. Many times she almost gave up and let her foot slip in the moulds. But she continued on, retelling herself stories of times once gone. She listed over the ones that spoke of strength and bravery, slipping past those that spoke of death and torment.

In this way, with lions prancing through her head, and eagles flying to the moon, she reached the top. No heights could be further reached ‘cept in the clouds, and the clouds were not to welcome her yet.  

She did not smile, for times were not yet succeeded. Drawing a small jar from her pocket, she held it up, watching as clouds wafted around its wrath. Pulling on the lid, it opened, clouds slinking into its open reach.

One, two, three.

She snapped the lid closed, hearing no sound be made. Holding the jar aloft she watched as wavering puffs floated in its captor. Returning the jar to her pocket, she prepared herself for the new task at hand.

Slowly, so slowly, she looked back. Her eyes fell calmly over the heights she had reached, the rises and falls of her journey.

In an instant, she was flying through these treacheries; her eyes open to all that there was.

It only took a moment, and there she was, standing at the crossroads of her start. Taking the straight without a moments thought, she began to walk, her feet almost tripping over the even surface. Her bag deep with logs, now felt like a feather on her back.

It didn’t take long for her to see the thatched hut of her belonging. Nor did it take long for a person deep in cloth to come walking out. Neither muttered to the other, nor touched, though each longed to hear the others voice.

The person stood back as the logs were laid on the ground. Arrayed in such a pattern they could seem like anything to the onlooking eye.

The clouds then came. Cascading in their prison they swirled mindlessly, yearning to be free. With delicate care the lid was prised and the clouds came pouring out onto the tumbled logs.

One, two, three.

In a burst of flame fire broke, quickly sending up the smell of burning splendour.

Only at this sign did the two woman embrace, smiling to each other. Much time apart had done little to the two woman, their smiles bringing back their years of youth.

As they moved inside the woman thought about the journey she had just traversed, the journey which had ended where it began. She had seen much wonders as she had walked, seen much glory over the world. But none were more welcoming than the little door of the hut and she realised, that although there were many places in the world, there were none she would rather be than here.

As her head knelt in the frame, she almost looked back over where she had just come, but to look back would be to go back, and that must be saved for another day.

 

    

Reviews

[The XYZ Writer]

Alright. First things first- in the beginning sentence it should be "...HER long dress clanking..."
Second- "not halting for a fragment of a moment" Is that what you meant?
Third- "Clouds danced above her head, signaling..." You spelled signaling with two l's.

Sorry, just thought I should note the mistakes for you in case you want to correct it.
Archia I must commend you on your vocab skills, they are quite amazing. This tale of the old lady's travel up the mountain to get those clouds for fire... a very nice idea that you enriched with detail. Just a few mistakes here and there, but still a very good work. :) Keep it up.

~Sumayya