The Runner

Jasmine's face was a pallid shock of white as she stared at the churning tornado of red paint before her. It twisted and moulded into the form of a tall man, his wings stretching out either side of him.

"That's creepy." She gasped bluntly.

"Jasmine, I am Notus, your father." He said, his voice cutting through the air like the edge of a knife. "The wind from the south."

"O-okay..." Jasmine stuttered and the figure of god imploded on himself, sending paint in a tsunami wave across the field.

Kaia groaned. "This is going to take forever to clean up."

In short, it did. It really did. Grass didn't like to be washed.

We ended as the sun sank into the hills. Sweaty, paint-splattered, bruised and tired to our bones.

A hot shower and a warm dinner had never felt so good. Kaia handed me a cup of warm drink and the chocolate sunk into my tired bones, breathing fresh air into my lungs and pulsing energy through my veins.

I was just starting to wake up again as my eyelids drooped shut and I collapsed into the living room chair.

Notes