Chapter Four. Daye
Daye
They were racing through the forest. Rory was laughing, the sound flung to the air above them, high and sweet; her own laughter an inaudible chorus twining through it.
All around them, light pooled in leaves and dripped into the last of the blackberry thickets, before splashing into the ground like spilled honey.
She could almost taste it.
It seemed impossible that summer had ever existed.
That the end of summer had ever happened.
That there was ever anything but this: the air in her lungs, loam-tinged and cool.
The surety of her limbs, autumn pulsing through her like a heartbeat, loud and fresh, making stumbling unthinkable.
The thrill of speed, of movement. The joy of it.
The autumn forest streaking around her, steeped in rust and gold.
And Rory. His fingers laced with hers. The flash of his smile, blackberry stained and bright, as he tugged her deeper between the trees.