skirting the colonies

The growing darkness of the woods said nothing in the evening of the day after.

A hush had fallen and stayed, lying bonelessly on the edges of Apetown.

The council meetings had not went well and the people were as divided as ever.

As Monai watched the last glow of sun die in the sky, the cheapness of the liquor mattered less, the muted peace settled in: the break of the wave, the relief in the receding tide.

Most everyone left awake was somehow unsober or desperately trying to be. Mon had saved last summer's brandy just for the occassion, and bags of pipeweed.
In just a robe in the cooling evening, the breeze licked her calves as she sipped the dark bottle. The trees rustled like rain.