WATCHING THE LINE

She saw the run of the fire well before anyone else: an arcing, angry line of orange snake-shifting across the thin-grassed plains. A nasty shiver of excitement then—whatever wild devil it is that puts its claws in at the edge of fear and pulls out the evil pleasure of watching unavoidable consequence unfold. She scratched at her elbow, watching as the dead skin fell lightly, impossibly, onto the tinder-dry verandah railing.