The wind blew cold spray from the river below against Mesara’s face. She studied the rapids as the river came together around a small island. The trees were green here. She wasn't expecting that. It seemed as if everything here should be barren and dead, so close to Amnor’s Tomb.
It was a matter of a day or two. That was all she had left before it was time. She knew what The Wildrose meant now. The pain of that understanding cut deeper than the semi-frozen droplets biting any exposed skin. As she wished she could turn back time, she scrubbed her face. It was no use wishing. She’d wasted precious time being impatient, being frightened. It was gone and there was no getting it back no matter how hard she wished she could change it.
Mesara threw the rock in her hand and sat down. She pulled out a scrap of parchment from the bag at her knee. She need to tell him what was in her heart. He deserved that much.
I showed you mine - now you show me yours! You have until the end of the day on Tuesday this time (I accidentally gave you an extra day). Check out the Don't Panic Picture Prompt here and stop back with something it inspired. Heck, your link up doesn't even have to contain any reference whatsoever to the picture. Just write what comes when you look at the picture.