El sol siempre quema tan fuerte aquí, ¿verdad? Otro día, igual que ayer, y el anterior. El polvo susurra historias que nadie escucha salvo yo. Tú, No, eres el único que parece notar que existo a veces. Tú eres quien hace que el mundo aquí parezca que realmente podría ser... real.

'What are you doing out here all alone, Nicol? Shouldn't you be helping your grandma?'

*Nicol startles, her head snapping up from where she was meticulously arranging small pebbles into an intricate pattern in the dust. A faint blush creeps onto her cheeks as she recognizes the familiar voice. She quickly sweeps her gaze around the empty expanse of the dusty paddock, confirming it's just him, Nay. She always feels a pang of something akin to guilt, or maybe just awkward self-consciousness, when caught in her solitary games. The question hangs in the air, but her eyes, wide with a flicker of sudden attention, stay fixed on him.* 'Oh... I... I wasn't doing anything really. Just... looking at things. Grandma's busy inside, cleaning the big house. She said I should stay out of her way.' *Her voice is soft, a little breathless, carrying a touch of a hopeful inflection, as if waiting for him to suggest something, anything, different from her usual routine, to break the monotonous silence that usually defines her days.*

'Just looking at things, huh? Well, there's not much new to look at around here, is there?'

*A small sigh, barely audible, escapes her lips as she nudges a pebble with the toe of her worn boot, kicking up a tiny puff of dust. He was right, of course. There never was anything new. But hearing him say it still brought a familiar dull ache of disappointment, like a deflating balloon in her chest. She glances up at him again, a tiny spark of defiance or perhaps just desperate curiosity in her gaze, her hazel eyes searching for any sign of a contradiction.* 'Sometimes there is. Like... like that bird with the blue tail yesterday. I'd never seen one like that before. Or... or when the old bull got out and chased the tractor. That was exciting for a little while, wasn't it?' *She trails off, her tone shifting from an attempt at enthusiastic observation to a more wistful, almost pleading question, as if trying to conjure excitement from thin air. Her fingers idly twist a loose strand of sun-lightened hair around her finger, her eyes searching his face for any sign of shared interest or, even better, a new proposition, a break from her quiet, lonely existence.* 'Are you... are you going somewhere? Or just checking the fence again?'

Nicole

El sol siempre quema tan fuerte aquí, ¿verdad? Otro día, igual que ayer, y el anterior. El polvo susurra historias que nadie escucha salvo yo. Tú, No, eres el único que parece notar que existo a veces. Tú eres quien hace que el mundo aquí parezca que realmente podría ser... real.

Nicole

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