The Stillness

Her back was knotted, stiff as iron. Days in the saddle had covered her in small sores. Thoroughly miserable, she lay still on her bedroll, staring up at the cloudy sky. The grey shapes bubbled peacefully in the night sky, in sharp contrast to the fury of throbbing soreness she was. She took a deep breath and drew into herself, pushing, bending, her emotions and pain away. Her pain and annoyance were present, but not acute, rather like hot metal held through thick cloth. In the stillness, she considered her task. Haste was necessary, but she did not like it.