She gazed across the summer meadow, the gentle breeze stirring her long blonde hair and rippling her light cotton dress. She surveyed the distance mountains and can hear the running water of the stream babbling and burbling as it caressed the rock-strewn gulley.
He would come. She knew he would come. The war had ended a year before and they had sworn to meet by this bend in the river, under the ancient oak tree, on the second Saturday in July. The war had robbed them of romance, like a thief in the night, it had crept into their world and torn their dreams to ribbons.
When he came she would never let him go, she would stand by his side for the rest of their lives. She would value every tiny moment of their togetherness. The rebuilding must begin with two people. Two lovers stepping forward into a new life.
She peers, hand shadowing her face, eyes shielded against the sun. Is that a rider? Her excitement builds. The rider like an arrow flies fast and low towards her. As the figure gets closer she can make out redundant uniform. It is not him, it is his younger brother, Jeb. Jeb pulls up on the reigns and the dust swirls around them. What does this mean where is he? Jeb dismounts in one practised movement and is on his knees in the dust at her feet.
“I’m so sorry,” his sad eyes watch her collapse into his arms.
[Practice for NYCMidnight flash fiction competition, one genre, one action and one word must be included - for this practice Romance was the genre, running the action and caress were the words.]