lyrical prose
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Hooves pounded in the distance. She waited beside the round well. The bucket’s rope frayed, threads split and curling. Her komboskini hung at her waist, its dark wool looped in even knots along the cord. Each knot held a prayer.
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Her shoulders rolled, hips catching the rhythm. One leg kicked high, loose and easy. She tossed her thick curls back, let her head swing low, then snap up with the downbeat. The music moved through her, brown hair swaying like branches after thunder. Her hands rose and fell, wrists so thin a child could wrap…
