Raven's Mountain by Orr Wendy Page A

to keep going till you find somewhere better.
    You can do it, says Jess. You’re a hero. Remember, you’re Coyote Girl!
    It’s hard to believe in Coyote Girl right now.
    I thought you were going to save your sister, says Amelia.
    Lily. I remember now: I have to get up, and I have to get to the truck.
    Or that log.
    The trunk is taller than my head. The skeleton of its bare roots twists into the air like a haunted forest.
    Suddenly it seems like nothing in the world is safe. Mountains move when you dance on them, and trees that are quietly minding their own tree business get ripped out of the ground. Just like that, from one minute to the next, the tree’s life was over, just like the bear Scott shot.
    I’m shaking so badly my knees are wobbling. I’ll never be safe or warm again. But in the curve between the bottom of the trunk and the roots there’s a little den, with a floor of pine needles and moss. A Raven’s nest.
    I’m not sure if I’m lying down or falling.
    Some digging-in stones wake me up before I knew I’d gone to sleep. I chuck them out, grab some moss off the top of the log for a pillow, pull my hood tighter around my face, and drink the last swallow of water from my bottle. The bear spray is digging into my other hip: I take it off my belt and curl myself around it. It’s the last thing I own and I don’t want to lose it.
    Good night, Mum, I wish.
    Sleep tight, Lily.
    Get well, Scott.
    Last night, when I was going to sleep by the fire and I   couldn’t say goodnight to Mum, I reached out to touch the end of my sister’s ponytail, gently enough that Lily didn’t notice but I knew she was there.
    Amelia has all those stepfathers and uncles and everything but she doesn’t have a sister.
    Lily’s crashing around on her side of the bedroom. I try to tell her to be quiet but can’t wake up enough to talk. When she finally settles down she snores like a pig, and I dream about how cross she’s going to be when I tell her that in the morning.
    Then I tell her my nightmare about falling off a cliff and starting an avalanche that trapped her and Scott inside a mountain. I’m so happy it was just a dream that I   go back sound asleep.
    But I don’t know why she’s getting up before it’s even light, and I don’t know why she has to take my blankets. She’s even spread gravel on my mattress which is the meanest trick she’s ever played. It’s lumpy and horrible and if I could wake up I’d go and get into her bed instead.
    I can’t wake up. I go on shivering and curl up tight like a puppy.

12

8:05 SATURDAY MORNING
    I’m lying on the ground. I’m cold right through; my neck is stiff, my bottom hurts and my legs ache   – but even in my sleep I know waking up is going to be worse.
    I open my eyes.
    It’s morning. The sun is high in the sky. I’m snuggled into the roots of a dead tree; I’m very hungry, I need to pee, and Lily is locked in a cave at the top of the mountain.
    But I’m not alone.
    On the other side of the log are the white mother bear and her two cubs.
    I freeze.
    I don’t mean freeze like when you’re playing statues. My body has turned to ice.
    Scott’s lectures race through my mind like a video screen: Don’t run away, a mother bear with cubs is the most dangerous, don’t turn your back, don’t look it in the eye, a black bear that’s not afraid of people is the most dangerous, don’t scream, lie down with your hands over the back of your neck, no, that’s grizzlies, this one’s a black bear except it’s white, if a black bear is aggressive you should shout and use your spray instead of lying down . . .
    My bear spray is behind my back.
    Mama Bear lifts her head, grunts to her cubs, looks straight at me, grunts again and takes another mouthful of grass.
    The cubs are playing tag, white Gretel chasing black Hansel