I couldn’t let myself think of them or I’d falter. That dot on the parchment represented the best hope of saving the people who had taught me so much about life, that it could be more than just hunting and killing. It was two days to Soldier’s Pond, two more back, once we mustered the necessary reinforcements. Before we’d left, I had studied it with complete focus, memorizing each twist and turn of the route, each handwritten note left by Longshot about good game-hunting or fresh water. My course was fixed by the shadowy line traced on the priceless map secured in the leather folio in my pack. Rifles cracked out when they rushed, but I couldn’t turn, no matter how much I wished otherwise. Behind us, I heard them shrieking challenges to the men guarding the walls. Into the dark I quickened my steps, eyes sharp for Freaks prowling beyond normal perimeters. Now it was strange to imagine I might not be entering the middle of my life. Once I’d thought old meant twenty-five, but my time in Salvation had changed my perceptions. She glimmered like a promise of hope that my flame needn’t flicker and burn out before I had a chance to live. The decision hurt my heart too my foster mother’s face would haunt me, so wounded and brave, older than I’d known a woman could become yet remain strong and vital. This wouldn’t be easy, but it was necessary to leave our loved ones under siege to fetch help for Salvation. George MacDonald, The Day Boy and the Night Girl “I smell a wild beast-that way, the way the wind is coming.”
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |