The runners bolted at the signal. Their feet pounded the rock, all Serafina’s teenagers galloping through the crevasses. Jeanie with the leg she’d broken summers ago lagged, but her torch was the first to find kindling. The long fronds of a fescue patch ignited.
Here we are, on the verge of Nanowrimo month. Last week I was nervous about all the spare time I wouldn't have, but now it's starting to hit--the Nano High. I'm hyped!