Still, there was no help for it. The walk was long and cold enough without waiting for nightfall to drop the temperature and add an extra degree of danger to it. She’d best set off, the sooner the better.
Spike had packed her backpack the evening before with everything she’d need for a two-day trip -- a change of clothes, some dry food bars, two large bladders full of water, assorted small tools, a bit of money, a tightly wrapped bundle of highly sensitive papers. Her bullwhip hung from a tie on the outside of the pack, and her walking poles were propped up and waiting by the small front door. Once she’d donned her water-repelling cloak, she was as ready as she could be. She doused the coals in her small stove, checked the locks on all the windows and doors for a third time, then shouldered her pack, grabbed the poles, and headed out.
The front door was small but heavy, and it made a satisfying thud as she closed it behind her. A moment later, a gust of wind nearly took her off her feet, and she had to brace herself against the closed door lest she be blown to the sandy ground. As soon as it let up enough for her to stand upright, she gripped her walking poles, one in each hand, and set out around the back of the house. A gravel path curved along the side of the cottage and wound its way through the boulder field. It climbed up the underlying sand dunes that sheltered the cottage from the worst of the winds. Once she had crested the dune, she was in a wide, rolling field of scrubby grass and scattered stones. Her path meandered off toward the sunrise, with twists and turns to avoid the larger boulders and deeper ravines between dunes.
Her face was bombarded by the tearing wind and bright early morning sun, both of which made her squint and want to shield her eyes. But she knew both would ease as her journey progressed, so she tucked her chin low and pushed her way into the folds and tangles of the gusting wind.
One foot ahead of the other, poles planted deep into the soft earth to support her against the wind, she pushed against the elements for an hour or so before taking her first break. She had kept her head down for the first stretch, knowing the landscape was nothing but ever-repeating clumps of tall grass and gently rolling hills, with very little danger of encountering another soul. But the wind and the sun were desiccating, and so she stopped sooner than she’d have liked to retrieve water from her pack and take a long drink. Before stowing the water and closing up the pack, she checked the placement of the bundle of papers, ensuring they were still there -- yes, of course they were still there -- and that they weren’t wet or exposed to the wind or the sun. The papers had been tucked deep inside the pack, protected by her rolled clothing, but Spike knew important papers like these had a way of getting away from you if you let your guard down.
(This post is part of the 500 Words short story project.)
