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A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia)
#61
Asha fought against consciousness; it was too painful, too bright. Though she pulled her senses small she could not turn them off, and it felt like the storm had blown her sensitivity wide open. The village was a dull wound, less fresh but aching enough to get lost in if she was careless. The shock still made her tremble, and the memory itself would not soon wash clean. Without opening her eyes she could feel a woman in the room, all sharp and spikey. Elias was not here, but she could feel him somewhere close – angry, frustrated. Asha wanted nothing more than to curl into the emptiness he could provide. He was never sentimental with her, but he never denied her that comfort when she needed it.

Her chest hurt with each rise and fall. Her throat felt raw. She felt bruised. Actual memories of drowning were subdued, distant – eclipsed by the assault on her abilities at the time. Her own fears were tiny things in comparison, buried under the feelings of others. Tears streaked her cheeks. When her eyes blinked slowly open, more tears glassed and pooled almost immediately. She didn’t move for a long time, curled on her side where she woke.
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