It's nice to be alone sometimes. Valkyrie doesn't often get the chance to strike out on her own, which is fine. She doesn't mind being busy. And on top of that, she has a lot of friends that want her company. Soooo many friends. That's what happens when you're popular.
But it's a relief to briefly escape the eyes of the school and not think so much about popularity or who likes her and how much. No need to worry about Homecoming and dating and feelings when it's just her and the trees. It smells like pine and earth out in the woods, and the little meandering trail is easy to navigate. A perfect respite.
Or it was at first, anyhow. She's not surprised when the terrain gets rough; it doesn't seem like the trail is used often. The sudden steeper incline doesn't deter her. She climbs, searching for the most solid footholds until she crests the hill.
For a second it's hard to reconcile the familiar things in front of her, just because the context is so wrong. Slabs of broken asphalt, the painted traffic lines fading and incomprehensible. Chunks of it have replaced the rocks and gravel under her feet, and there, lying among the debris, is a road sign.
She looks both ways, like waiting to cross, or trying to see where the stretch of road might have extended. How old would it need to be for nature to have completely taken over? "Weird," she whispers to herself, and picks up the sign fragment.
Valkyrie and the Road To Nowhere
But it's a relief to briefly escape the eyes of the school and not think so much about popularity or who likes her and how much. No need to worry about Homecoming and dating and feelings when it's just her and the trees. It smells like pine and earth out in the woods, and the little meandering trail is easy to navigate. A perfect respite.
Or it was at first, anyhow. She's not surprised when the terrain gets rough; it doesn't seem like the trail is used often. The sudden steeper incline doesn't deter her. She climbs, searching for the most solid footholds until she crests the hill.
For a second it's hard to reconcile the familiar things in front of her, just because the context is so wrong. Slabs of broken asphalt, the painted traffic lines fading and incomprehensible. Chunks of it have replaced the rocks and gravel under her feet, and there, lying among the debris, is a road sign.
She looks both ways, like waiting to cross, or trying to see where the stretch of road might have extended. How old would it need to be for nature to have completely taken over? "Weird," she whispers to herself, and picks up the sign fragment.