one word [common]
(ref: here)
Francis stepped out onto the street; the wind whipped along the road, screaming loudly as it rubbed her ankles raw.
Stumbling slightly, Francis moved onward, with the wind, as the air drew the heat from her body through legs, arms, back and head.
"I think I can make it," though Francis, not daring to open her mouth.
Forty steps brought her ten feet, and throughly barely-open eyes she saw the lit lantern right above the wooden door.
Forty more steps brought Frances within the door frame; as the wind whipped about looking for other victims, Francis sighed.
Seven more breaths, and Francis steeled herself against the wind.
"I've done this before," thought Francis, as she gritted her teeth. "It is never easy but I CAN do this."
Stepping back onto the way, the wind seemed to take perverse delight in discovering holes in her pants.
Ignoring the biting, angry wind, Francis continued to slowly and deliberately step forward, one foot at a time.
"I'm just glad the wind is dry today," considered Francis, as she moved forward. "It's always worse when it's humid."
Twelve steps later, Francis saw the words she had been waiting for and excitedly picked up her pace.
As Francis began moving at a more intense pace, the wind too picked up, and it became a race, a test of endurance.
Francis pulled her hood closer, wrapped her cloak tighter, and stepped more deliberately than before.
The wind spun eddies, looking for more holes, in different places. Here a thread-worn elbow ... there a thin access to the face.
Two feet before the door, Francis eyed the door; the locked frame took away some gumption, and the wind hollared with glee.
Whipping up even more frenzy, the wind pushed harder than it had before; barely able to see without air screaming at her face and ears, Francis slowly ... slowly ... touched the door.
The contact, though slight, was enough to comfort Francis, and she took joy in the solace the door implied.
Reaching for the handle, the wind seemed almost a memory. The door frame truly implied a locked door ... simple inspection proved it unlocked.
And gladly, Francis opened the door as the wind shrieked with frustration.
Her chair beckoned invitingly.
Francis stepped out onto the street; the wind whipped along the road, screaming loudly as it rubbed her ankles raw.
Stumbling slightly, Francis moved onward, with the wind, as the air drew the heat from her body through legs, arms, back and head.
"I think I can make it," though Francis, not daring to open her mouth.
Forty steps brought her ten feet, and throughly barely-open eyes she saw the lit lantern right above the wooden door.
Forty more steps brought Frances within the door frame; as the wind whipped about looking for other victims, Francis sighed.
Seven more breaths, and Francis steeled herself against the wind.
"I've done this before," thought Francis, as she gritted her teeth. "It is never easy but I CAN do this."
Stepping back onto the way, the wind seemed to take perverse delight in discovering holes in her pants.
Ignoring the biting, angry wind, Francis continued to slowly and deliberately step forward, one foot at a time.
"I'm just glad the wind is dry today," considered Francis, as she moved forward. "It's always worse when it's humid."
Twelve steps later, Francis saw the words she had been waiting for and excitedly picked up her pace.
As Francis began moving at a more intense pace, the wind too picked up, and it became a race, a test of endurance.
Francis pulled her hood closer, wrapped her cloak tighter, and stepped more deliberately than before.
The wind spun eddies, looking for more holes, in different places. Here a thread-worn elbow ... there a thin access to the face.
Two feet before the door, Francis eyed the door; the locked frame took away some gumption, and the wind hollared with glee.
Whipping up even more frenzy, the wind pushed harder than it had before; barely able to see without air screaming at her face and ears, Francis slowly ... slowly ... touched the door.
The contact, though slight, was enough to comfort Francis, and she took joy in the solace the door implied.
Reaching for the handle, the wind seemed almost a memory. The door frame truly implied a locked door ... simple inspection proved it unlocked.
And gladly, Francis opened the door as the wind shrieked with frustration.
Her chair beckoned invitingly.
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