THE STORM
After the eagles flew away, Galen found a shrub to sleep under—no rose thickets here. Galen clawed at the dirt, trying to make a soft area in which to bed down. He was so excited at the sight of the eagle, he couldn’t be still. He clawed until he kicked up so much dust Rafael started sneezing.
“Sorry,” Galen said.
Looking at his brother, though, Galen had a sudden impulse to shout with joy. Rafael had seen the bird with his second vision. They were very, very close to the end of their trek. Galen patted the dirt with his front claws, around and around, in smaller circumferences, around and around, until he worked his way into the center.
“You sleep here.”
Rafael sniffed at the dirt bed, turned around a couple times and settled down.
Unable to calm himself, Galen started clawing a new area for his own bed. The raccoon had told them to follow the river, and they had strayed from it because of Blaze’s interpretation of the Turi’s map rock. Maybe the geography had changed, or maybe she was too stubborn to admit she didn’t know where they were. Apparently, they should’ve kept to the river all the time; they had accidently stumbled into the right place to search for the Faralone Falls. Galen regretted the time lost: they were taking a broken road to their goal.
He finished his bed and tried to lie still, but his legs twitched with anticipation. He wanted to be off searching right now.
The next evening, Galen woke late. He found Rafael under a tree, scratching at a green ball.
“Lunch,” Rafael said happily.
It was a bodark, Galen saw. The tree was known for its thorns and its fruit which was sour and hard to eat. But Rafael was ripping off small chunks of one fruit and chomping away.
Rafael’s claws and face were covered with a milky-white juice. Maybe his recent illness had thrown off his taste again. Galen curled his lips. In any case, he wasn’t eating a bodark.
Galen studied the tree. It was high on the bank over the river, and its long thorns discouraged any casual visitors. Towering forty or fifty feet, it was taller than any other trees nearby, except for a sturdy sycamore, and would be a good landmark. Best of all, the ground would be softer near the river; if he had to dig the den without Rafael’s help, he wanted the softest dirt. It was so dry they didn’t have to worry about water rising. Yes, he decided with satisfaction, under this bodark, he would dig their den.
Rafael, surprisingly, cooperated and didn’t insist on helping to dig. By the end of this night of fresh air, plentiful water, and good food, he was looking almost normal. He still tired easily, but he was cheerful and cooperative. Before they slept, they hid under the tree’s long branches and watched the eagles fishing for their chick’s supper. The nest couldn’t be far away, exulted Galen. Tomorrow night, he would start searching.
On the following night, Galen started by swimming across the river and trying to walk the western shoreline. Rounding the first bend, he had to return to the water and swim since the banks were too high. Where he could walk, there were odd gullies and cracks in the cliff that sloped steeply off to the west. Even in this first survey, Galen realized some cracks would run with tiny streams in the wet season, while others would lead up into the heart of the hills. During this drought, he wouldn’t know which one might have a stream fed by a waterfall. It would take days to explore methodically.
Maybe he could follow the eagle. If I could fly, he thought wryly. But if I could fly, none of this would be a problem. It reminded him to wonder about where Blaze was. Was she injured or dead?
And thinking of Blaze led his thoughts back to Corrie. Where were Corrie and Victor? At the thought of them trekking together, a restless anger flared. Vagabonds. He may never see them again.
Galen pounced in the water and snatched up several snails and sucked out the insides. The physical action took his mind off the anger, so he foraged another fifteen or twenty minutes.
When it was time to get back to Rafael, he gathered snails in one claw and started back. He rounded a turn of the river, and a brisk southwest wind hit his face. Overhead, a cloud raced across the sky, blocking the moonlight. He wondered if the weather could be changing. Since their den was right beside the water, he had almost forgotten how dry everything was; rain would be welcome in the Ozarks.
Just before dawn, he popped inside his new den, presented Rafael with a snack, and the two fell asleep for the day.
* * *
Someone shoved Galen, rudely waking him from a deep sleep. He didn’t know how long he had slept, but a cool wind whistled down the den’s entrance tunnel. Wildly, he looked around and saw Corrie.
“Wha—“
Corrie interrupted. “Hurry. It’s storming badly, and the den may flood.”
Surprise took his breath away: he had missed Corrie. Galen couldn’t take his eyes off her face. Impossibly, the young armadillo of spring had become hardened, mature, and far from detracting from her beauty, it enhanced it. She still had bright black eyes and the loveliest ears Galen had ever seen. But this trek had pulled something out of her; she had strength of will and a physical stamina that exceeded his own. In short, she was the trekker he had always hoped to become. Facing the north with courage and, yes, with joy.
“I found Rafael outside. He’s waiting for us,” Corrie insisted. “Come on!”
Galen shook himself awake and followed Corrie up the tunnel. They huddled with Rafael near the tree trunk. Lightning streaked. The storm was blowing from the southwest, as it sometimes did in late summer. Even protected by the bodark, Galen was quickly drenched. Outside the tree’s canopy, the rain fell in sheets. If it continued, the river could flash flood—all those cracks and gullies he saw last night would send runoff into the river—and who knows how high it could rise, or how fast. Galen raged at himself: he was a fool for digging a den along a riverbank.
Another lightning flashed. Crack! On a hillside opposite them, it struck a tree, which exploded in a shower of sparks.
“We’ve got to move,” Galen yelled above the storm. “This is a tall tree and lightning could strike it next.”
Corrie nodded. Rafael stood and faced the river, then uncertainly turned east. Galen saw the rain’s loud pattering was confusing his brother’s sense of direction. Galen put his shoulder against Rafael and helped him navigate toward the meadow.
Amidst lashing rain, they raced for the cover of distant trees. Galen found himself wondering how Corrie found them, and where was Victor, and what had they found on the peak?
.