Her love for him was fresh and untainted. It was a sunny day with a hill of untouched snow. It was delicate. It was a pretty picture.
Their tracks went back and forth on top of the hill. They hung on to each other for better footing. Neither wanted to upset the fragile allowance beneath them. In time, steps became stomps and walking gave into a run.
On her way down, she felt a hand at her back, not one that offered aid. Her body cleared a path down the hill. The snow hid the branches that tore at her clothes. The slicked grass permitted her no foothold.
She slid. He watched from the top. He was stoic. She relinquished flesh and tears to the tumble. There was no pardon for her. It was inescapable. Every rock, branch, and punch of earth was a recitation of what she already knew; but had to live through to pocket the experience.
Be careful who you climb hills with.
