Amanda Lynn's Arc

Chapter 11 of 14

The route was hers. But her feet were failing. Amanda Lynn sat on the aviary bench in the last of the light and pulled off the borrowed boots. Her soles were raw. Blisters ringed both heels. Days of scouting barefoot and in stiff leather had ground her down. The race started at dawn. She needed sleep and she needed to walk to the start, and right now she could barely stand. She pressed a thumb to her arch. The muscle jumped and knotted. A cramp. If that hit on the slabs, she would go over the edge. No cleats would save her. A rustle came from the grass by the bench. Amanda Lynn looked down. A small frog sat there, bright as a warning. Its back glowed yellow and black. Its legs were blue and spotted. She had seen its cousins in Anita Bathe's jars, two towns over, where Anita kept her animals and mixed her scents. Then she understood. The green film on her cleats. The vial had come from Anita, who bottled things from creatures like this one. She had rubbed frog poison on the iron that touched her feet all day. Amanda Lynn grabbed the boot and turned it over. The green film had worn through at the toe. Bare iron showed. And her raw skin had touched the film every time the leather flexed. Her feet weren't just tired. They were going numb. She had one choice. Trust the poison or scrub it off and slip on the wet slabs tomorrow. If she cleaned the cleats, she kept her feet but lost the route. If she left the film, she kept the grip but might lose her legs mid-race. She worked through it slow. The numbness dulled the blisters. The cramp had come before she touched the boots today, from overuse, not poison. The film gripped wet stone and nothing else did. She needed both her feet and the grip. She could not have both perfectly. So she split the difference. She scrubbed the worn toe clean where bare skin met iron. She left the film on the heel and mid-sole, where the leather held it away from her cuts. Then she wrapped both feet in strips torn from her shirt, a barrier between poison and blister. She eased the boots back on. The wrap held the film off her raw skin. She stood. Her arch trembled, then settled. She took ten steps along the ridge. No cramp. No fresh numbness. The cleats still bit. She lay down on the bench with the boots on. She would not risk the walk to the start in the dark. She would sleep here and wake with the swifts. The frog watched her from the grass. Amanda Lynn closed her eyes. Her feet ached, but they were hers. At dawn she would run the ridge on legs she could still trust.