Free Planet Urth by Jennifer Martucci, Christopher Martucci Page A

does not say anything more.  She does not need to.  I can see the relief on her face.  She is not mad at me anymore.  “I am going to catch a boart today,” she says. 
    I am shocked and proud at the same time.  The odds of June actually finding and killing a boart are slim at best.  I do not wish to sell her short or undermine her intention, but tracking and killing a boart is no t an easy feat.  Regardless, trying will be good for her, even if it means we will eat a rabbit or squirrel I catch for dinner. 
    “I would love to have boart for dinner tonight,” I encourage her and rub my empty stomach. 
    “And breakfast and lunch tomorrow too.  I am going to get a big one,” she says and sets her jaw. Determination radiates from her.  June looks at me then unexpectedly says, “I can do it, you know.  I am ready.”
    “I know you are, June.  I believe in you,” I say with certainty.  “Go for it,” I smile. 
    She does not smile , but her eyes shine with satisfaction. 
    We play a little longer then I am forced to remind her that my trip will be a long one, and that I must leave now if I want to make it back before the sun sets.  We return to the cave and I collect my gear.  I reinforce the fact that she must be extremely careful, and then I set off toward the lake. 
    I walk through the forest hurriedly.  The rustle and stir of leaves keeps me alert.  I continually scan trees and brush for any sign of movement, or danger. 
    Th e sun has just risen and the air is already warm and sticky.  The woods are rich with the smell of decomposing leaves and logs.  I walk for hours.  The air quickly becomes stifling.  I stop to drink for a moment, and when I do, I look down and notice large, tubular droppings, boart droppings. 
    I notice a section of weeds that has been overturned.  A small hole has been dug. 
    I narrow my eyes, press my lips into a hard line, and stalk past the uprooted earth.  I follow and watch the low-growing brush as I clutch my spear. I lower my body when I move, my head moving from side to side.  I see more droppings ahead.  I continue until I find another patch of ripped-up growth.   
    T he faint swish of water in the distance distracts me from my trail.  My heart pounds. I realize I am fast approaching the edge of the forest where the trees begin to thin.
    I look to the trail then toward the direction of the sound.  The rush of water calls to me as if singing my name.  I know who lives near it.  I know I should stick with following the boart.  But I don’t.  I follow the strange flutter in my belly, the extra beats of my heart.  I move away from the trail and toward the lake. 
    I pursue a different animal entirely.  I find myself moving toward the rim of the woods.  Thin trees are spaced farther from one another and lower-growing shrubs offer little shelter.  But I cannot stop myself from shuffling closer.  I want to see the other humans again, especially the older boy. 
    I inch forward , creeping slowly, until I see the younger children. They are dunking clothes in the water and swirling them around.  The woman comes out and wrings what they’ve washed and lays them on flat rocks to dry.  The children watch and listen as she explains what she is doing. 
    I see the silhouette of another person at the mouth of their cave.  It is taller and broader.  My pulse picks up speed.  He steps from the shadows, out into the bright, golden sunlight, and I have to remind myself to breathe.  He is even more beautiful than I remembered.  His bronze skin glows in the sunshine, and his short, almost-black hair sticks up on end and looks shorter than it did yesterday.  He must have just gotten it trimmed.  I am suddenly envious of whoever was lucky enough to run his or her hands through it, close enough to stare into his pale eyes. 
    Mesmerized, I move closer.  I stand behind a sickly looking bush and poke my head out from beside it.  I am sure I look like an