The writing made me think of the way she ran, one hand crushing a hat against her head if she’d been forced to wear one, other yanking up her skirts, legs churning away beneath. She always ran flat out, looking as if she’d trip any moment. But she wasn’t as clumsy as she looked. Sometimes she was almost graceful—dancing or riding. Anytime she moved in tandem with Artemis, arms reaching upward like wings. I saw her red hair against a blue sky, clear as I’ve ever seen anything. And my heart lifted. I hadn’t even opened the letter. That was all from the slant of the way she wrote my name.
The fact that he got that just from er handwriting
