Free Falling Ashes by Kate Bloomfield Page B

eyeballs didn’t help much. It was becoming harder and harder to stay awake, and soon, I felt myself nodding off, straddling Hawthorne’s back as if he were a giant pillow. I wasn’t scared of sliding from his back because he was so vast, and my fingers were entwined through his fur.
    Hawthorne landed in a large patch of farmland an hour later, and we slipped into an abandoned shed. The floor was littered with straw and grain, but at least we were warm and dry. It took mere minutes for me to fall asleep, buried in a large bundle of hay. I only hoped that I did not ignite the dry straw.
     
    ~
     
    I was being poked - hard.
    I groaned and rolled over, but the poking continued. Grumbling, I curled into the fetal position.
    ‘She’s alive,’ whispered a high voice.
    ‘I thought she was dead!’ said another.
    It took a long time for me to realize that I did not know these voices. It took an even longer time to realize that I was not at home. 
    I opened my eyes, which proved difficult as they were so congested with sleep they stuck together.
    ‘She’s waking up!’
    ‘Why do you think she slept in the barn?’ the high voice asked.
    ‘Maybe she’s homeless.’
    ‘Should we get Dad?’
    ‘No! What if he sends her away?’
    ‘She might be dangerous!’ 
    ‘ Girls can’t be dangerous. They’re girls .’
    ‘Shut up! They can too be dangerous!’
    I rubbed my eyes and peered around for the source of the voices. It was bright in the barn; light was streaming in through the open doors. Two silhouetted figures stood in front of me, one of them holding a long, wooden stick to poke me with. They were small, barely four foot each.
    ‘Who’s that?’ I grumbled.
    One of them poked me with the end of the stick again.
    ‘Stop that,’ I said, agitated. I sat up, blinking in the bright sunlight. Slowly, my eyes focused to reveal the two small children that stood in front of me; a young boy who looked no older than eight, who was holding a long stick, and a little girl of about six who held a rag doll in her hands. Both of the children had dark hair that was extremely disheveled. They both looked underfed.
    ‘Are you dangerous?’ asked the little girl.
    I looked between them. ‘Um … no.’
    Suddenly, I remembered Hawthorne sleeping only a few feet from me. Surely the children would have noticed him. Why weren’t they afraid? I jumped up and looked around for Hawthorne, only to discover that once again, he was gone.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ asked the boy.
    ‘Did … did you see an animal?’ I asked, peering around the large bundle of hay.
    ‘What? Like a dog?’ he asked.
    ‘Um … yes, a big, white dog.’
    The kids shook their heads. ‘Just you.’
    Perhaps Hawthorne had heard the children and found a place to hide . Good thing too, otherwise they would have gone running for their parents.
    ‘What are you doing in our barn?’ asked the little girl, cradling her rag doll.
    ‘Um … I needed somewhere to sleep … sorry.’
    ‘ See , I told you she was homeless,’ said the boy.
    ‘I’m gonna get Daddy,’ said the little girl, taking a step towards the door.
    ‘No!’ I said quickly. ‘Please, don’t.’
    The children looked at me skeptically. They weren’t idiots.
    ‘Uh … what are your names?’ I asked.
    ‘Dad said not to tell strangers our names-’
    ‘I’m Annie,’ the girl said quickly, ignoring her brother. ‘Can we be friends?’
    ‘You’re not meant to tell strangers your name!’ the boy scolded his little sister.
    ‘Shut up, Hamish! I can do what I like!’
    ‘Oh great, now she knows my name, too. You’re so stupid, Annie!’
    ‘All right, all right!’ I said loudly, breaking up the banter. ‘Annie, and Hamish, is it?’
    They nodded, sheepishly.
    ‘Okay … You’ve got to promise not to tell your Mum and Dad that I was here okay?’
    ‘Our Mum is dead,’ said Hamish, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘And Dad doesn’t like strangers on his farm.’
    ‘I like her,