Allison Saft

For those with impossible dreams and for those who feel dreaming is impossible.

There is so much waiting for you on the horizon.

Everything aches. His legs throb, his ankle twinges from where he twisted it, and a swatch of skin above his socks stings with open wounds. But he is alive. Alive.

“Fuck.” He laughs breathlessly, hysterically, until tears roll down his face.

“What are you doing?”

“Margaret,” he wheezes.

She looms over him with a hand on her hip. Her hair hangs loose around her face, and he’s so relieved to see her, all he can think about is grabbing fistfuls of it and kissing her square on the mouth. Although he’s horrified by the very idea, he gasps through his fit until he finds his voice again.

“Alright, alright,” he cuts in. “I get it. I’m a selfish idiot. Is that what you want?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Her voice wobbles. It’s enough to undo him. “I’m saying I was worried about you.”

“Margaret…” His heart lurches. “I’m sorry.”

He goes deathly still when she places her hand on top of his. It’s warm and callused, but her touch is surprisingly gentle. “You have to be more careful. Wickdon is more dangerous than you know.”

He thinks he has some idea, though. The danger of Wickdon runs deeper than just the hala or Jaime or the restless sea. It’s here, within him and right in front of him. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, or maybe it’s the adrenaline. But right now, he swears that her hair is spun from moonlight and her skin is dusted with silver. Try as he may, he can’t exactly recall what it was he once found so repulsive about her.