Hold On

Wind's coming up something fierce. She can't stand up without holding on to something, anything within her grasp.
Just so happens it's Oliver.

He's holding onto Winston, his tripod street dog from Thailand. Happy as can be, a permanent grin stretched across his flecked brown and white muzzle, bright pink nostrils flaring with every gust, his lone back leg swaying to stabilize his hips as he wiggles back and forth.

Oh, I didn't- I'm sorry, I can barely stand up. This wind...
S'ok. I'm used to balancing for two.

He looks up at her, one eye closed, a permanent wink, corner of his mouth raised, hair windshield wiping across his brow. How can anyone look so calm and composed in the middle of hurricane?

Winston seems to lean into it, like an arrow mid flight.
She closes her grasp on his forearm tighter.
Just so.
It's picking up velocity now. The awning creaks and moans. She's sure it'll be Wizard of Oz time soon.
There's no place like home...

She feels him shift, leaning his hip into her thigh, steadying her.
Comfort in chaos.
Trusting.
Surefooted.

Snap! The branch cracks and explodes off into space, up, up and away.
Winston growls, then a hoarse, half hearted bark.

Come, he says. Follow me.
Hold on.

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