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| Looking for hope in a drought, squinting at the sun in hope of a cloud, Nat brushed her dust-ridden red bangs out of her face and pulled her horse's reins up sharply at the sight of a small stream that, remarkably, was still running clear and clean despite the drought and how much it had shrunk in these first two weeks of summer. She tucked her rough-for-a-woman's hand through the gap in her steed's bridle and pulled him over towards the water, bending down herself to soak up some of the sweet, thirst-quenching, water. She cupped her hands just below the water (upstream from the stallion, of course), her knuckles brushing a few pebbles out of the nooks they rested in and changing the flow of the stream, if ever so slightly. ---- |
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