My wife has taken the position that I need to ease up on my expectations for this year’s NaNoWriMo, and she’s not wrong. It’s writing. I’m doing it. I need to be okay with the pace I’ve set for myself.
The land around Graceford was farmland for quite a ways, but it gave way to the green-gold of the High Prairie proper. I’d gathered from Marigold that her people thought the High Prairie south of the Great Road was a pale imitation of the real thing, but from here it looked wild and proud, and fearing nothing. I wondered if I would see the really wild parts of it on this trip, and decided that I’d rather not. For one thing, it’d be a very long ride. The Single Line only went as far north as Camptown.
Speaking of the railway line, I could see it snake its way north along the line of the Lovely. I had wondered why the Horsemen had let it be built, considering how they didn’t care for irons lines being drawn across their maps, but from up here it didn’t look bad. It fit with the land, or maybe the land had made room for it. Either way, it didn’t hurt your eyes or your heart to see it. It was peaceful to look upon, and I was all the better for feeling that peace.
I wasn’t the only one feeling things, I reckon. Behind me Marigold began to sing.
Where the mountains give way to Prairie
There we’ll rest and take our ease;
Just the stars, the gentle winds,
And you and me.
Though so cruel
Might be our parting,
In our hearts we’ll understand
When the prairie meets the sea…
She had a nice voice. I’m pretty sure about that, at least. I mean, it wasn’t like any birds had fallen out of the sky from hearing her.