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 A cold wind whipped across the plain as a lone figure holding the reins of a horse stood silently, cocking his head and listening intently. As the wind died down, the figure nodded it's head and turned to its horse. In one swift motion, the figure swung its leg over the horse, which in turn gave out an indignant neeiigh."Oh, come on now," said the figure, now obviously a 'he'. "Don't be like that. We will be there shortly. And I'm sure we can find you some incentive for getting there faster. Perhaps an apple, fresh from the Autumn Harvest?" The horse gave a slight jerk of it's head, as if giving in out of exasperation. The rider gave his horse an affectionate pat, and gave a low whistle to signal their leaving. They had to ride fast, as they were headed toward-

"Maddy!" I hear my name being yelled, jerking me out of my writer's trance. My fingers are splayed over the keyboard of my old MacBook, where they had been typing furiously just a heartbeat before this unprecedented interruption. "Madeline!" I hear again, this time full of irritation at my absence. "Get down here! Your uncle will be here in a few minutes!" I let out a low groan, taking a moment to read over my work before grumpily slamming my computer shut. My uncle, Pete, is finally leaving his home which is tucked away on the edge of a lake in the middle of nowhere and visiting us. He moved there a few years ago, saying he needed a change in his life. A change it was indeed, moving from a small San Francisco apartment to the middle of a forest. He claims he uses the solitude for his writing, but according to his editor it is less writing and more parties to impress his friends. As much as I love him, sometimes I think he really needs to tone down the Henry David Thoreau.

I reluctantly peel the blankets off of my limbs, stuck like a second skin from hours of writing. I stretch out my legs and back, sore from being hunched over. I take a moment to think over my work, smiling at what I have planned for my next update. I am tempted to open up my computer again when another "Maddy" tells me my mom is done waiting. I walk down the stairs as fast a humanly possible without tripping up, so as not to keep my mom waiting. She may come of as the gentle motherly type at first, but to those who make her wait she unleashes furious her wrath. This once happened to me when I failed to come to a Thanksgiving dinner on time. It had not been a fun week.

"Hey Mom" I say with a smile, hoping she will be merciful. When she looks up from her phone, her expression is as exasperated as her voice. "Where have you been?" she asks, somewhere between irritable and angry. "I told you weeks ago that we had family coming over at 3:00!". I glance up at the clock. 3:05. "Sorry, Mom. I was writing." Her face softens, and she lets out a sigh. "Oh honey, I'm sorry. I know it's been hard on you. But I need you to be ready in time. Now, come on. Help me tidy up." I nod, and start picking up and arranging an assortment of jackets and scarves. I was just fixing the pillows on our couch when I heard a knock. I swing the door open and smile at who is behind it.