Ouroboros Spine i babble on until my voice is gone

Grandmother clutched her arm, staring at her mother with something palpable that Lightfoot had no name for.

Me? Why not Nantahala? Yuralria? Lightfoot couldn’t do that, speaking to a circle of women in lieu of her mother. She looked back to the woman when she huffed a hard breath, then settled.

Grandmother, I don’t think I can. The sky itched at her bones, calling to her. If she tore out her own ribs, could she fashion them into wings? Could she chase the horizon.

I want to run. I itch for it. The rest of her words died into salt on her tongue.