“I stared down at her, my gaze riveted. I couldn’t help myself. Silently I pressed her image into my mind, taking in every characteristic of my newfound hero. Her gnarled fingers like claws pressed the ground. Her white hair lifted in feathery wisps above tired and watery seafoam-green eyes. Her face reminded me of dried cracked earth, her story written in the deep wrinkled lines on her brown, suntanned skin. I had never seen anyone look frailer yet more fierce.”
Book:Eating Yellow Paint