JUNE

As the month of June slowly passed, the vagabonds made steady progress northward. Aches and pains of the first week had given way to strong, well-used muscles. Even Rafael was growing stronger, though his behavior was still odd.

Their lives fell into a routine. Victor always rose first and searched for likely places to forage. Corrie was the next awake, always anxious to get moving, and then Rafael. Galen, who could come fully awake immediately, was always the last to wake. Victor led the armadillos to whatever food he had found, and Blaze usually found them and consulted with Galen about the night’s route. Once they started, they traveled most of the night, slowing only the last hour before dawn to let Rafael dig a den for the day’s sleep.       

After two weeks, a nagging doubt grew in Galen. They were traveling far with only scraps of information. All they learned at Long Pool was to travel north along the rivers. It confirmed their general direction, but by now—surely, by now—they should be narrowing the search. Nothing Victor did as a leader helped.

Despite his worry, there was an optimistic quality to the green of this country in this season. Galen reveled in the deep greens of oak leaves, the gray-greens of lichens, the yellow-greens of wild flowers, and the blue-green of streams alive with algae and watercress. The Ozarks suited him. He rejoiced that, if he must trek, he was given these hills to travel. Here, solemn valleys were tucked inside amiable hillsides, which unfolded before them like a singer trying variations on a particularly lovely melody. For now, hope sustained him and he was content to travel.

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