Boots On The Ground Synonym Novels & Stories

while staring at the ground. ....

“It’s better to let them know who they are dealing with right from the start. I don’t care how many wannabe’s spring up from all corners of the world. I’ll crush them all under my boots.” The word ‘boots’ brought a new kind of fear in my mind. I remembered clearly how her boots had landed on my leg; I had had bruises for weeks after. It wasn’t something that you’d easily forget. And the more I remembered that day, the more suffocating it got inside this stall.

She lets out a nasty, quiet hiss. My boots reach the second floor all alone. It is completely quiet up here, and all the loud hockey music and chatter from the shop opening are blocked behind the heavy wood. Seemingly, every ounce of pack strength leaves my joints all at once, and my knees collapse straight onto the hard floorboards.

When the ground was good. Still. Rising. Always.

The southern root path spat us out into a ditch. Not dramatically. Not with ancient whispers or silver light or a prophetic warning. One moment, Garran and I were walking beneath black roots that pulsed like sleeping veins. The next, the ground vanished beneath my boots, and I slid down a muddy slope into wet leaves. I landed on my back with a sound that was not dignified enough for anyone recently accused of being a blood witch queen. Garran crashed down beside me half a breath later.

The sound of synchronized feets pounding the damp earth was like music to my ears while the sparring training too place. The pack moved in perfect harmony, their feets striking the ground in unison. The thud-thud-thud of their footsteps echoed through the forest, a rhythmic beat that seemed to match the pounding of my own heart. I felt a sense of pride and admiration for these creatures, who had been casted away by their previous packs but had found a new home and a new sense of purpose here with me.

The cold presses in from every direction. Somewhere ahead, in the dark and the waiting and the terrible patience of people who think they've already won, my son is standing without his boots on cold ground. I run.

Her boots hit a narrow strip of safe floor with the lightness of someone who’d done this a hundred times. Blood slicked one of her hands already—the beast fight’s leftovers, not hers—but it moved with her as if it knew where she wanted it. It clung to the metal segments of her weapon, darkening them, then slithered down and along the ground in a thin, sinful trail. Every place that trail touched, the stone darkened. Hazards grew teeth. A row of small blades sprouted from what had been neutral floor, rising just high enough to shred ankles if you weren’t watching.

Chloe nodded, “You go ahead. I will be there soon.” I walked a couple stores down and found a different shoe store that had a lot of platform shoes. I walked in and immediately found my boots! They added over six inches in height, so I could reach my mate a lot easier, without looking like a spider-monkey climbing all over him. I tried them on, then tried walking in them. Goodness! I sure wish I had a day to practice wearing these away from my mate. Right now, I look like a newborn calf. When mom and Chloe walked in, mom laughed when she watched me walking. She suggested, “Sweetie, just act like you’re walking on the ground. It’s just higher up. That’s all.”

I freaking love the boots. A pair of knee-high, black leather boots adorned with silver buckles and intricate stitching. They exuded an air of rebellion and confidence, an embodiment of my journey from darkness to light. With every step, they would serve as a reminder that I had overcome the challenges that life had thrown my way. I fastened the last buckle and stood up, feeling a surge of energy coursing through my body. The sound of murmurs and hushed conversations filtered into the dressing area as the event staff prepared for the show. My heart raced in anticipation, a mix of excitement and nerves dancing within me.