A TREE HOUSE? IN THIS forest?
The boy shook his head, blinked hard, and pinched his thigh.
The tree house was still there!
If he could get the owl behind those walls, they’d have shelter. They’d be safe.
The boy had helped the crab. Could he help the owl, too?
“Do you seriously think you can save that? You can’t even save yourself.”
“It needs my help.”
“Just because it needs you doesn’t mean you can help.”
The tree house was not in the boy’s tree. To get to it, he’d have to climb down his tree. In the rain. With the thunder. And who knew if the beast was waiting at the bottom.
“It’s a long way down.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that.”
Wind whistled by his ears. Raindrops pricked his skin.
“You might fall.”
“I know.”
The boy stiffened.
“That’s right. Stay here. It’s the easiest thing to do. And you know you want to do the easiest thing. After all, it’s only a thunderstorm . . . with lightning . . . that could strike you.”
“Shut up.”
The boy searched for a trail he could follow to the tree house. The branch he was balancing on led to another one, a thicker one. He could climb to there, then shimmy to the next. That branch intersected with a thinner one. Could he balance on it? It would only be for one step. Just so he could reach that limb on the next tree over. Then he’d be below the tree house and could climb into it, into safety.
“Once upon a time, there was a boy who climbed like a monkey.”
He turned to the owl. It was still staring, still trembling.
“It’s going to be okay.” The boy tried to keep his voice calm. “I’m coming to get you.”
He brushed the water from his face, then pulled the blanket off himself. He hated that it was getting wet, but he needed it. He tied two corners under his chin, pulled the knot behind his neck, then tucked the bottom of the blanket into the waistband of his shorts so it formed a pocket by his belly.
The boy froze, hesitated. The owl blinked.
“Hooo.”
“Once upon a time,” the boy said, “there was a boy who saved all the creatures in the land.” He crawled along the branch, his arm outstretched until his hand curled around the baby owl. Its feathers were soft and delicate.
“You’ll be fine,” the boy said, hoping he believed it. “We’re going over there.”
He pointed at the tree house—so close, but also so far away—then he placed the owl under the blanket.
“Hold on, okay?”
“You think it’s going to be safe in there?”
“It better be.”
The boy took a deep breath and stepped out of his cradle.
Rain pummeled his skin as his fingers grasped for the next branch. His toes gripped the damp wood. He closed his eyes, pictured himself and the owl inside, sheltered by those leaves, safe.
He shifted his weight. He was across to the next branch. It was slippery, but he steadied himself.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.
CRACK! BOOM!
He wiped the rain from his face. Prepared for the next move. Another deep breath. Another step.
The branch bowed beneath his weight. “Don’t worry,” he told the owl as he shimmied farther out. “We’ll be all right.”
SNAP!
A twig splintered under his heel and he grabbed the branch. Instinctively, he held on to the owl—and looked down. He hadn’t meant to.
The twig dropped, disappeared into the darkness.
His heart hammered on his ribs like the rain on his head.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.
CRACK! BOOM!
“Once upon a time . . . Once upon a time.”
He focused on the tree house. He was closer. Just a few more steps and he’d be at the thin branch. He wouldn’t be able to stay there long. But from there, all he’d have to do was reach across to the other tree.
“Hooo.”
He took another deep breath. A step. Step. Step, and his toes bent around the thin branch.
He was one tree away now. The thick branch under the tree house was just there. Right there.
He only had to reach.
CRACK! BOOM!
Keeping one hand over the owl, he stretched his leg toward the branch on the other tree. The gap was wider than it looked. Too big for him to step over. Too big for him to reach. And below, there was nothing. Just a long way down—then the cold, hard ground. And monsters patiently waiting.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.
CRACK! BOOM!
The thin branch below him creaked. It bent.
His body lurched downward. But he grabbed the trunk. He held on tight.
Pain seared within his arm, but he focused on the trunk and the branch. He couldn’t fall.
“Trust me. Jump.” The words came back to him—the words he had heard on the beach when the water had pulled him under. “Trust me. Jump!”
Yes, that was what he had to do. He had to jump.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.
CRACK! BOOM!
The boy pulled air deep into his lungs and bent his knees. Just push off, he told himself. Just jump.
But what if he didn’t make it? What if he fell?
CRACK! BOOM!
The branch below him split. Tumbled away.
“Jump!” he shouted. But he couldn’t. His feet wouldn’t.
He reached.
He stretched.
He dropped . . .