walking gingerly

She streaks across the grey landscape, clutching her prize close to her chest. She risks a look at her pursuers and grimly swerves to the left. The blind monsters from hell run on unaware that she is out of their reach. She stops running only when the sun begins to rise. The little brown paper wrapped package glows with promise. She sits down to write


We turn the page to peruse a new chapter, in the daily chronicles of the continuing adventures of Ahalya Naidu super editor and grandmistress fiction writer.

Or something like that