the meadow's sky in movement stillness
The women heard it, every 1, but no 1 of them moved or looked at 1 another or at Esme(e).
That was the only sound: Esme(e)'s gasp.
The air hung without its vibrancy and without its vivid spheres of depth and hue.
It hung like a starving bird in its ultimate instant seeking with clouding eyes the final star,
the star it had meant to take, home.
Esme(e) rose. Ferocity restrained with imperial will made her awkward and sliced us with her vulnerability. She could not hope to hide it, it was on her like a brand, and she did not care.
She cared not if we saw.
She was gone from us.