Jeremy Frost
The Waterfall
By:
Martin David Edwards
Eirwin tugs at her bonnet then covers her neck with her hand. A jolt
from the track prompts her to turn around to Derwen, holding the
reigns of the horse in his outstretched hands. He stares ahead, his
blue eyes burning a path through the trees like crystals. In the
distance, they can hear water drumming like a sheet of sound.
“I wanted the flowers,” she says.
Derwen tightens the reins in response, his knuckles turning white.
“The wedding,” she continues. “For tomorrow, while the scents
are still fresh.”
As the cart swerves through a puddle, he clucks at the horse.
Eirwin’s mother had frowned in the kitchen at the request; her hand
paused in a bowl of dough. There were the wedding preparations to
be finished and her sister would be arriving later with a baby to feed.
However, Eirwin had replied that she needed the air. Her mother had
nodded, a fleck of dough dropping from her fingertips. She could
take Derwen in the cart and was to be back before her sister came.
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