Haven't written here in a bit.
I'm running on a system: waxing moon writing, waning moon editing.

I remember a call for Enigmata subscriptions that required the tale to be exactly 100 words, no more, no less. Each one had to start with a different letter of the alphabet. I think I had "Q" (another one related to numbers 1 through 10). It's good exercise for both sides of the brain.

Here's R:

Red light sears the Tuesday sky.
Xen adjusts her scope and performs another sweep. She counts off degrees slowly and deliberately. A tremour pulses within her skull. She sinks to the ruddy sand and begins to breathe a staccato rhythm.
Surveyors on the Iron Plains tend to die after five years. Medics declare it a SDS-variant.
Xen continues the dragon breath until she knows she’s bought herself another day. (Xen has long-since passed her expiration date.) Straightening, she hugs her burnous around her and squints into a crimson sun.
She’s been holding back the Fall this way for three winters.