II
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Section two.
The boy stirred, awaking to the sounds of the invigorated morning birds chirping away at their morning rehearsals. The remnants of his meal had long been scattered onto the ground, carried away by the capricious wind. Rubbing his eyes, his gaze shifted upward, drawn to the dreary drape of gray clouds slowly hovering above.
Taking his focus off of the weather, he sat up. Before he could consider leaving, he had a few things he had to take care of.
Reaching into his shirt, he took out the rabbit skin he’d saved earlier and placed it on his lap. Plucking drooping leaves from nearby branches, he tore off a vine, skillfully weaving them into a sturdy string. Tying the improvised string around his hand, he retrieved his knife and punctured four holes across the edges of the rabbit hide. Wedging his knife back into the tree, he threaded the vine through each hole, securing it tightly.
After a bit of finnicking, he’d made himself a functional sack. Wiping the sweat off of his brow, he plucked each stone from the tree bark, placing them inside, save for the knife. He figured he was ready to climb down. Examining his surroundings, he made his way down. Halfway down the trunk of the tree, he noticed that his prints were still in the soil below. Along with others. It looked like the soil had frosted over.
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Slightly panicked, he thought his situation through. He was sure he’d never passed this tree. Those tracks weren’t his. He’d hidden himself well enough, and whoever came by had obviously missed him. ‘Was it something else? An animal?’ he thought, dropping the rest of the way down. If there really was someone nearby, then he didn’t have much time. Examining the tracks again, he began walking perpendicular to both pairs of prints.
As he walked, he increased his pace gradually before breaking into a run. The tracks in the mud alone proved that this area wasn’t safe. He’d never seen an animal that big near here, and either way, whoever made those tracks was dangerous. ‘Are they still looking for me?’
His calves began to ache as he ran, and he had no desire to hide his tracks. It’d take too much time. He looked around for somewhere to hide away again. Finding a large enough bush, he climbed in and crouched, in hopes he wouldn’t get a rash.
He had no plan; he wanted to run, but he didn’t know if he should leave. He felt as if the forest was closing in on him. Did they know where he was? The bush wasn’t very comfortable. Some of the plants inside had thorns which constantly poked at him any time he moved. He began to feel inconvenienced, no, he felt wronged.
Why’d he have to go through this? He felt like all he had since his shack was destroyed was shuttle around like a rabbit. Looking down to his pouch, he wondered if he’d be made into a bag as well if he was caught. Gradually, amongst these feelings, the heat of anger rose within him. ‘What reason did they have to destroy my home? What right?’ His brow creased as his fists unconsciously balled up. “This isn’t fair,” he muttered through clenched teeth. Recalling the tracks he’d seen, he never noted any predators of that size near here, and the prints were bigger than his.
As he eyed the roots of the bush with mounding anger, he felt a stinging coolness on his neck. Brushing it away as rain that’d fallen from a leaf, he continued to think. Only until he began to shiver, the cold biting him like insects, did he finally look up. Flecks of white floated down, coating his shoulders in frost along with the bush leaves around him. Thin icicles hung down from them like saber teeth as the boy’s anger transitioned into wonder.
‘I haven’t been here that long, right?’ he thought. In truth, he’d been sitting here for hours, contemplating what he would do. He didn’t think it would snow, it’d been mostly warm these days. Lowering his head again, he came to a decision. His pupils constricted as his expression grew more determined. Unless his captors were made of stone, he was sure he could escape.