The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Rome

Seeds

Freja sat on the grassy slope, as still as the granite rocks around her. The Norwegian wind was wild and gusty, and her curly hair flicked and whipped about her face like a mop caught in a tornado. Her nose wrinkled, but her body didn’t move. Not satisfied with teasing her hair, the wind started in on her scarf. The fringed ends flapped and flopped against her coat until the scarf came loose and drifted away from her neck. Still, Freja kept her legs crossed, her gloved hands pressed into the grass at her sides. The wind howled with fury. The scarf gave a whippety-flick, slid across the back of her shoulders and took flight. Without moving her head, Freja followed its journey with her eyes. It sailed up into the air, where it snaked and wriggled in a cherry-red dance of freedom.

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