A six sentence story: the cue is fall.
Ever since she had turned sixteen the music had called to her and she had answered, going to the glade to dance and chant to the moon.
“Rain falls, wind blows, fire burns and plants grow.”
But tonight there was no music for her, the young man with the intense dark eyes had changed that. She went anyway, angry and defiant. Why should her fall rob her of the music, it wasn’t fair.
When she arrived, another was in her place, with arms raised, dancing to the moon; she no longer belonged.