Flash Fiction: Thin Prudence (171 word)

The moon was grinning at Anden when he stepped out of the smoky card room into the midnight-empty street. He was grinning too, and for a moment the old feeling that the sky had read his thoughts and approved of his tricks flicked through his chest. His shoulders had been square before, his lungs full on an easy breath, and he had been standing as tall as he was able, but if he hadn’t, the thought would have dragged him up.

Anden almost laughed. He glanced both ways down the street, but wasn’t looking for anything, just hiding his face until he could work the grin prudently down off his lips. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he rocked back on his heels and eyed the still beaming moon.

“Thanks for the support, mate,” he murmured through a smile. “But you don’t know nothin’.” Turning on his heel, starting his first long stride down the dirt street, he resisted the urge to jangle the coins in his pockets to prove it.

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