The sand was soft, not packed hard like she’d imagined. It made running down
the giant dune wild and hard. She liked this, the risk and the sun going down.
It had been a dream.
The ranger waved his arms, shouted words that floated out over the lake. She
waved back, thrilled to be seen, her solitariness a trophy.
She built a stone tower on a log still wet from its voyage and considered
her luck to be strong and fearless.
Behind her, the dune rumbled and shifted, silent in the waves’ roar, until
the sand was at her back.