Two sisters.
Each alike the other.
Both with tattoos, ankle and shoulder.
Young.
One cycling along the river, turning towards the village and stopping on the hill.
Catching her breath.
The pre-dusk is golden on the trees across the valley, dark shadows folded between scarp and trunk.
Her heart is beating fast.
Stopping again as the climb becomes fearsome, the light a little more golden the shadows a little darker.
The heart a little faster.
She looks at the tracks of dear in the earth.
She listens to the call of the first owl.
She smells wood-smoke from the fires keeping the houses warm.
Until she has caught her breath.
She cycles on.....
The other sister is asleep.
A bed.
A dream.
A shop, a purchase, a treasure.
The purchase is impulsive.
The treasure is random.
Treasure is always random.
Always hidden.
They meet later, elsewhere.
There is a small square down a narrow street from the market.
An old garage, now a second-hand clothes store and sometimes random junk shop.
With hidden treasure for the non-impulsive.
They search a box of odds and ends and at the bottom, chance on something.
It looks like a stone, but it’s lighter.
It is the colour of chocolate, but darker.
“Do you know what that is?” asks the shopkeeper/treasure hider asks.
“No,” the sisters chorus.
“Guess.”
“A seed.”
“From something big.”
“A hippopotamus?”
The clothes-seller-hider-seeker laughs.
“A dream seed.”
The sisters look at each other.
“How much is it?” they ask.
“It’s free.”
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