drabble - "from the same clay"

The mud of the Gorkon's bank made needy grabs at her boots, as Klara took careful steps down to the water's edge. She wanted to gaze into her own face, as it would be reflected by the spine of the town – she wanted to see if it would tell her anything, some portent she was owed as new Mistress of the earth.
 

The water had been churned some time prior to her arrival. It showed merely billowing silt, a useless and languid mixture that stole away any revelation she might have sought. This – portentous in itself – was ignored or even rejected by Klara. Put out, she willfully kicked at the river's bed, setting the tiny sediments into a greater frenzy.
 

Nevertheless, Gorkon's banks made a good place to stall and stay out of sight; she was small and blended in well with the colors of the earth. Perhaps it was no longer necessary to hide like this, and her skulking might inspire worse circumstances for herself. She should not be antsy to walk with her head held high through these streets, because her place here was a rightful one. She was no thief – now or ever!
 

Klara considered all this as she watched the swirls of distressed particles in the water, outwardly chaotic, inwardly carried forward by an echo of the motion that first propelled them. Tracing the course of these drowned clouds invigorated her, in some abstract way.


...She supposed she had lingered long enough. Klara climbs just as carefully up and away from the river as she had descended down beside it, and once free, rubs her hands together to dry and dislodge the dirt.