("Huff, huff, huff" The wind howled without end...
The wind, mixed with sand and grit, cut at her face like a knife. It blew straight at her, making it harder and harder to breathe, and harder and harder to keep her eyes open. She could only furrow her brows and squint.
Her clothes were thin: the cotton lining and robe did little to keep out the cold. She curled into a ball, clutched her bundle in her arms, and walked with her head bowed, trying to preserve the last trace of warmth.
All in vain.
The spring wind in February was as sharp as shears, stripping away her last shred of dignity. It slipped through the seams of her clothes, found an opening, then puffed them up and called its companions to frolic inside. The wind coiled and spiraled like a flying dragon, making her robe crack like a banner as its hem fluttered up and down.
She simply let go of her arms and let the gale cut through her thin frame. She slung the bundle over her back and stopped worrying about so-called interests and appearances, stopped indulging in unrealistic fantasies. She strode forward, fists clenched, back straight, brows faintly furrowed, and kept walking.
The clear, tinkling sound of her jade pendants chimed in answer to the howl of the wind. She paid it no mind and simply kept striding forward, walking on and on...
Theme: Her
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