Miniwrimo 21
She didn't know what exactly she was looking for. Her desire to find it propelled her forward.
She walked the length of the outcropping, studying the floor carefully, hoping it would reveal some obvious sign of what may have been, but the bare rock seemed content to keep its secrets, merely looking suspiciously smooth and level.
As soon as she felt strong enough, the itching adgitation crept in. Her eyes kept drawing up to the peaks and she could feel her fingers flex around phantom holds and her toes curled and uncurled for the same reason. It took some time to persuade Mishor to allow her to go out again.
"They will not be where I am going." She reminded him. "They can not go where I can, and I can feel them coming."
"They don't need to be close to shoot you." He replied quietly. "Is your range farther than a bullet's reach?" His look was meaningful.
Sray pressed her lips together. "You think they will be that desperate?"
"I don't know," Mishor admitted, "but do you want to gamble with your life?"
Third term felt blurred, the steady routine between the fields and yards punctuated by her explorations on Remstan.
Here the rock felt smoother, worn, like a thousand hands and feet had found and gripped them before. A shivver of excitement raced down her spine. This felt like it.
She mounted the ledge and paused when her eyes focused on what was now before her. It was a doorway. A large, wooden door filled it. It was weather-worn and split, the hardware was dark with tarnish. While she knew no one would be there she still hesitated. She stepped closer to the door and reached out her hand. Carefully, slowly, she advanced, reaching her hand to the elegantly curved handle. Her fingers brushed the rough surface, worn by decades of neglect and exposure to the elements.