RELEASE DATE: 1 November 2020
The markets crowd her senses, busy with sound and bustle and smells. Tundra needs to escape the sensory overload—she needs to run.
That means sneaking away from her mother, of course. Tricky, but not impossible.
And what she finds? Something that promises all her dreams come true—if she doesn’t kill them out of misguided love first.
A tale of freedom and a love of wild things that proves that if we love something, we must let it go.
But For Snow
The market is too bright—too many people shouting, laughing, singing—and Tundra cringes, shrugging her shoulders up around her ears. The place is raucous; it makes her head hurt. The smell of cinnamon and hot oil smothers her nose from the food vendors’ stalls, and the sunshine is fierce, making the damp ground humid and suffocating everyone with a hot, sapping afternoon.
Tundra wanders away a few steps, carefully eyeing her mother as she busies herself at a stall full of twisted metal jewellery. Tundra creeps a few steps more, the soft grass tussocks compressing under her feet as though they too are trying to be quiet in the hubub of the crowd.
She reaches the corner unnoticed, peeks back to see only her mother’s fuchsia silk headscarf through the crush and bustle.
Tundra runs. If she runs fast enough, the people blur and even though it’s noisy still, it’s nearly as good as being alone. The rumble of the crowd is like the wind that whips her long hair and tickles her ears, and she laughs from deep in her belly because if she can just run fast enough, it’s almost like flying.
Tundra pauses in the liminal space of a side-alley where the evening sun doesn’t reach. She sobers; others give the alley a wide berth. Dark shadows clutch cages against the walls and the breeze that gusts from the bowels of the alley is cold and full of night, and the smell of old, dry things. Tundra peers warily, curiosity piqued by the multitude of eyes that reflect the dim light. She has always liked animals.Tundra glances over her shoulder as goosebumps prickle her skin. Her heart hammers, not in fear of the inhuman night, but that someone might see her, might tell her she shouldn’t be here. People are always telling her she shouldn’t be in the places she wants to go.