If there was one thing softball taught me, it's that dirt and pebbles definitely didn't taste good.

I opened my eyes to find myself face down on the baseline in the infield, my bare right hand clutching the rugged white bag of second base and my gloved left hand pressed against the ground by my side. I heard my coach blow her whistle and shout several enthusiastic comments in my direction, which brought a smile to my lips that quickly vanished into a grimace of annoyance. A bolt of pain snaked from my wrist to the tips of my fingers; when I took my hand off of the base and examined it, I cringed at the bits of skin hanging from the already-bleeding cuts that criss-crossed over my palm. I couldn't tell whether I had scraped it on the bag or the ground, because both were covered in sand so the bits of gravel dotting the bloody crevices gave no clear indication. I brought myself unsteadily to my feet with a groan of pain that caused my coach to glance over at me once again. I looked at my legs and saw a trail of thick, crimson blood drip down from my left knee and merge into the cuff of my purple sock. A few of my teammates made concerned remarks when they noticed the dark red streak standing out against the gray, dusty surface of my leg, and followed it up to the gash that it leaked from. I sent them a nod and examined the rest of my body; not only were my legs painted in a coat of dirt, but so were my black, mid-thigh length shorts that I always wore to practices. Even my purple uniform t-shirt was practically gray now. I used my gloved hand to brush off my clothing and my legs, but it didn't make much of a difference considering the glove itself was caked with dirt. I always wore just one of my batting gloves, because that way I could be ready faster when I was up- although now, I sort of wished I had worn both, because while one hand was fine the other was scraped and stinging.

"Anna, nice slide! That would've been safe," my coach praised me before approaching, resting her bony hand on my shoulder. "Go have a seat in the dugout and get yourself cleaned up."

I hated sliding practice. I was good at it, for sure, but I never left without some kind of injury; whether it be a scrape, an actual cut, or a raspberry, which is what I called the blistering red marks that I often got on the backs of my thighs. Luckily, I didn't get any of those this time but that didn't take my mind off the throbbing in my leg and hand. When I sat down on the splintery wooden bench in the dugout, I couldn't help but wish I was at home in my own bed, or maybe even just on the couch watching a movie or something; anywhere but here. Though I was extremely passionate about the sport and always tried my best, it got a bit exhausting sometimes to the point where I'd rather stay home than go to Saturday morning practices. I wouldn't want to disappoint the team, though, or Elsa. She loved watching me play, like I said, and I would hate for her to think of me as a quitter or a softy; I was neither of those things.

As soon as I'd thought about her, there was a light banging on the cage-like wall of the dugout to my left side, reminding me of the event from this morning where I'd been startled out of my dream. I glanced over and sure enough, it was my sister, startling me out of my thoughts this time instead. Fortunately, I was sitting on the very end of the bench close to the wall, so I didn't have to get up and make my way over to speak with her. Before I could open my mouth to greet her, Elsa gazed down at my injury and frowned, leaning against the fence to get a better look.

"Jeez, Anna, another one?" Elsa sighed. Her gaze traveled up from my bloody knee to meet my own stare, and for a second I caught a look of pure concern and love in her cerulean eyes. It quickly dissolved into a look that was both playful, yet still filled with concern, and she managed a small laugh before crossing her arms over her chest. "You never leave this place without a new mark."

It was true. I giggled without actually answering and returned my attention to my legs; there were scars here and there, some cuts that had finally scabbed over, a few bruises and my brand new trophy to add to the collection- which, now that I remembered, was still bleeding. Most of it had clotted and become gooey by now so it came off easily when I swiped a paper towel along the path it created, but my skin was still sticky and stained red. I hated to waste my precious water on a hot day like this, but it didn't look like the coach would have me participate in any more of the practice since there was only fifteen minutes left. I untwisted the cap of my water bottle and poured some onto another paper towel, but as soon as I felt a fresh stinging in my palm I flinched, dropping the towel and my water in the process. I balled my hand into a fist and heard a gasp come from Elsa when she realized I'd had more than just the cut on my knee. Water ran under the bench, darkening the concrete floor of the dugout as well as soaking the sunflower seed shells that my teammates and I had carelessly spit out during games. Looking around at all the shells, I laughed; after all, what was a softball field if the dugouts weren't covered in sunflower seeds?

Now I relaxed, opening my hand to show my sister the scrape across the palm that had stopped bleeding sooner than my knee, and she sighed in relief, thankful that it wasn't anything too bad. It would hurt to write for a few days, I could tell. I couldn't even make a fist without it feeling like I was crushing a thousand bees.

"I'm fine, Els. I'll take a shower when I get home to really clean it out," I reassured the blonde outside the gate, picking up my fallen water bottle and noticing that most of it had spilled out. It wasn't worth saving the last few mouthfuls, so I poured it onto the gash in my knee, tensing up at the pinch of pain but quickly recovering when the icy liquid started to soothe it. Coach waved over at me and gave permission for me to head home early; she knew that I was aware of our game this Friday and didn't feel the need to remind me, and I beamed at the fact that she trusted me as a reliable player. Standing wasn't as difficult this time but there was still a tight feeling in my left leg when I put my weight on it. I unhooked my bag from the link in the fence and carried it out by the loop at the top, grabbing my bat from the rack with my scraped hand and pushing my way out through the gate. Elsa took my bag from me with a smile, ruffling my hair the same way Kristoff had at school that morning.

"You did a great job today. I'm really proud of you, Anna," Elsa praised me, tossing my bag in the backseat of her car before opening the door for me on the passenger's side up front. "All these injuries just show how tough my little sister is."

I ducked into the car and pulled the heavy door shut, sinking back into the soft leather of the seat and laughing as she started the engine. Whenever others complimented me, it made me feel great, and I always said my thanks with a friendly smile. But, when the compliments came from Elsa, it made me feel like I could do absolutely anything so long as she told me I could, and I wanted to throw myself at her and embrace her instead of just smiling. Was that weird? Maybe. It sounded strange, the way it played out in my head, and the image itself was even a little off although I was sure I'd done that to her many times when we were kids. It was nothing more than sisterly affection; of course her words would mean more to me than anybody else's. Besides Kristoff, she was all I had left, and the only one who I knew truly loved me. Sometimes, I second guessed her love; not that I ever thought she didn't love me, but.. there were times when I thought she loved me a little more than my big sister should.