leaf
caught in a river felt like this as she struggled to find something to hold
onto. Rushing wind flapped the canvas. Boxes and bundles smashed into her.
Suddenly, the wagon fell away. The tarp tore from the
nails that had secured it.
Kit exploded from the wagon, landed hard on the ground,
and rolled. The tarp tangled around her, binding her arms and legs. Her head popped
out of the canvas just enough to see the forest whirl. She bounced off a stone and
tumbled helplessly as thistles and brambles snapped around her. A fat tree appeared
in her vision several times.
The fat tree approached far too fast.
The tarp snagged on something and squeezed. The canvas
rubbed her arms. A small part of her mind sighed in pleasure as the motion eased
her itching arms.
The world bucked, and air squeezed from Kit. She closed
her eyes.
Sorry, Timothy. It looks like this is it.
The tarp squeezed her until her eyes wanted to pop and
her lungs burned for air.
Then she stopped.
She opened one eye. The base of the fat tree loomed uncomfortably
close. She squirmed against the tight bonds of the canvas, forcing herself to take
short breaths until she was able to free her arm and push against the tattered fabric.
She wormed her way free from the canvas tarp and kicked it away. Snow clung to the
maple branches that spun high above her. She closed her eyes against the still spinning
world and waited for her stomach to come down from the hill.
Her pounding heart slowed. She sat back for a moment
against her would-be murderer and let the world stop spinning. Far to her right
a log spring house squatted against another hill. A trail curved from its weathered
door and up a steep hill. A path of destruction cut up the hill close to that trail.
Saplings pointed down the hill. Two wheel ruts sliced through the leaves and snow
coating the ground. Clods of earth and uprooted plants pointed toward the small
spring house. The path barely missed several unforgiving trees and boulders.
The wagon lay shattered a short distance from the springhouse,
its wheels tilted at odd angles. Tell walked along the wreckage, gathering the paper-wrapped
supplies. He lugged an armload to the springhouse and dropped them into a pile.
He whistled a tuneless song.
Why do men cause me so much trouble?
Kit groaned. She felt as if she had hit every tree in
the forest. Her cheek hurt from hitting the lantern. She noticed the knapsack close
by. The lantern reflected moonlight from the open flap. She touched her cheek and
winced. She would have a bruise in the morning. Her body complained as she stood.
She limped over to the lantern.
"I should leave you here to rust," she muttered at it.
Instead, she stuffed the metal demon back into the knapsack and drew the flaps closed.
She hoisted the knapsack over her shoulder. Her head still spun. She may have
been hurt, but at least her hands and forearms had stopped itching. Maybe I shook
all the fleas off. She slunk through the trees toward the base of the hill.
"I wonder if Yuzu would want to try a ride like that,"
Tell said to himself. He looked up the churned path. "She looks like one who
likes to have fun."
"She’ll take a ride like that only if she wants to break
her neck," Kit muttered. She started up the hill, using the trees to shield her
from Tell. Her breath was coming in gasps by the time she topped the rise, and her
thigh had knotted. She saw the lodge a fair distance away.
At the top of the hill, Gert looked down the devastation.
Kit crouched behind a tree. The man’s pipe lit the pale night with color. Kit tightened
her grip on the knapsack and the lantern stuffed in it.
"Fool boy. I’ve told him twice now not to do that. He’s
going to break his head."
Timothy appeared. "What happened?"
Gert turned. "I told you to stay inside."
Kit saw her chance. She burst from the undergrowth and
charged Gert. She swung the heavy knapsack with both hands. A satisfying metallic
clink sent the man’s pipe flying and him
caught in a river felt like this as she struggled to find something to hold
onto. Rushing wind flapped the canvas. Boxes and bundles smashed into her.
Suddenly, the wagon fell away. The tarp tore from the
nails that had secured it.
Kit exploded from the wagon, landed hard on the ground,
and rolled. The tarp tangled around her, binding her arms and legs. Her head popped
out of the canvas just enough to see the forest whirl. She bounced off a stone and
tumbled helplessly as thistles and brambles snapped around her. A fat tree appeared
in her vision several times.
The fat tree approached far too fast.
The tarp snagged on something and squeezed. The canvas
rubbed her arms. A small part of her mind sighed in pleasure as the motion eased
her itching arms.
The world bucked, and air squeezed from Kit. She closed
her eyes.
Sorry, Timothy. It looks like this is it.
The tarp squeezed her until her eyes wanted to pop and
her lungs burned for air.
Then she stopped.
She opened one eye. The base of the fat tree loomed uncomfortably
close. She squirmed against the tight bonds of the canvas, forcing herself to take
short breaths until she was able to free her arm and push against the tattered fabric.
She wormed her way free from the canvas tarp and kicked it away. Snow clung to the
maple branches that spun high above her. She closed her eyes against the still spinning
world and waited for her stomach to come down from the hill.
Her pounding heart slowed. She sat back for a moment
against her would-be murderer and let the world stop spinning. Far to her right
a log spring house squatted against another hill. A trail curved from its weathered
door and up a steep hill. A path of destruction cut up the hill close to that trail.
Saplings pointed down the hill. Two wheel ruts sliced through the leaves and snow
coating the ground. Clods of earth and uprooted plants pointed toward the small
spring house. The path barely missed several unforgiving trees and boulders.
The wagon lay shattered a short distance from the springhouse,
its wheels tilted at odd angles. Tell walked along the wreckage, gathering the paper-wrapped
supplies. He lugged an armload to the springhouse and dropped them into a pile.
He whistled a tuneless song.
Why do men cause me so much trouble?
Kit groaned. She felt as if she had hit every tree in
the forest. Her cheek hurt from hitting the lantern. She noticed the knapsack close
by. The lantern reflected moonlight from the open flap. She touched her cheek and
winced. She would have a bruise in the morning. Her body complained as she stood.
She limped over to the lantern.
"I should leave you here to rust," she muttered at it.
Instead, she stuffed the metal demon back into the knapsack and drew the flaps closed.
She hoisted the knapsack over her shoulder. Her head still spun. She may have
been hurt, but at least her hands and forearms had stopped itching. Maybe I shook
all the fleas off. She slunk through the trees toward the base of the hill.
"I wonder if Yuzu would want to try a ride like that,"
Tell said to himself. He looked up the churned path. "She looks like one who
likes to have fun."
"She’ll take a ride like that only if she wants to break
her neck," Kit muttered. She started up the hill, using the trees to shield her
from Tell. Her breath was coming in gasps by the time she topped the rise, and her
thigh had knotted. She saw the lodge a fair distance away.
At the top of the hill, Gert looked down the devastation.
Kit crouched behind a tree. The man’s pipe lit the pale night with color. Kit tightened
her grip on the knapsack and the lantern stuffed in it.
"Fool boy. I’ve told him twice now not to do that. He’s
going to break his head."
Timothy appeared. "What happened?"
Gert turned. "I told you to stay inside."
Kit saw her chance. She burst from the undergrowth and
charged Gert. She swung the heavy knapsack with both hands. A satisfying metallic
clink sent the man’s pipe flying and him
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