“AAAHHH!”
The boy fell and fell. Leaves whipped past him. Arms flailed to get hold of a branch, a trunk, anything. . . .
His back hit a lower limb. He cried out but grabbed it tight. Breathe, he told himself through the pain. Breathe.
Steady again, he peered under the blanket. The owl’s bright eyes stared back at him.
“Hooo.”
The boy nodded. “We’ll be there soon.”
Above, he could see the tree house. His fall had dropped him out of one tree and onto a lower branch of the next tree—the tree where the house sat quietly waiting for him.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.
CRACK! BOOM!
The lightning was closer. The thunder was louder.
He had to pull himself up. Fast.
Grimacing through the pain rippling up his arm, the boy climbed up toward the tree house. One branch, two, three. His feet scrambled over the thick bark.
CRACK! BOOM!
He squinted against the pounding rain.
One more branch. Just one more.
He pulled. And pulled. Higher and higher.
He scurried behind the wall of leaves and curled up on the wide planks of the tree-house floor.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
The wind roared outside, and the raindrops plinked off the thick leaves above. The boy’s heart began to calm as he felt the planks beneath him. He had done it. He had brought the owl over the trees, through the storm, to safety. He had protected them.
“We made it,” he said, his face cracking into a thin smile as he peered at the owl under the blanket. “We’re safe.”
“Hooo.” The owl blinked.
The boy leaned back against the tree’s trunk and carefully pulled the edges of the blanket out of his waistband. He spread out the fabric, tucked his arms and legs inside, then pulled up a corner so his head was covered too. Curled up, with the owl warm against his belly, the boy rubbed the soft skin of his finger on his lip and told himself not to worry.
Sleep didn’t capture the boy for a while, but finally the thunder stopped rolling and the lightning stopped flashing, and the boy’s mind began to drift.
Until a brightness glowed in front of him. The tree house lit up, green leaves bathed in a yellowy white. Had daytime returned so quickly?
The light swept over him, and then it was gone. Darkness settled again.
His heart quickened. It wasn’t daytime. It was the light! His parents’ light! They were calling to him, searching for him. They hadn’t left!
He stuck his head through the leaves and twisted around as far as he could, but the light had disappeared. Where had it gone? More importantly, where had it come from?
The boy thought back to when he had seen the light on the beach. It had returned a second time. Hopefully, it would return now, too. And when it did, he’d have to pay attention.
“Hooo.” The owl shook itself out from under the blanket.
“It’s okay,” the boy said. “It’ll be back. Watch.”
He tapped on his knees. Then tapped on his thigh. Started to pull a loose thread from the edge of the blanket, but stopped himself and tried to put it back. He stared out into the darkness, wishing the light would . . . just . . . come . . . back. . . .
And it did. The light pulsed through the branches, illuminating each line of leaves in turn. It covered the boy with warmth.
“I’m here!” he shouted, waving his arms. “Stop!”
The light hovered over him for a second, and he wanted to hug it close. “Yes! You see me!” He waved harder, a hopeful smile budding on his face.
Then the light moved on.
The boy’s arms dropped to his sides as he stared into darkness.
The light had left him again. It had missed him on the beach and it still couldn’t see him high up in the trees.
“Nooo!” He punched the leafy wall of the tree house. “No. No. No!”
He gazed in the direction of the light, wishing he could punch something harder. Scream until the light came back. But his anger fizzled into despair. He knew the light wouldn’t return. As much as he wanted to be protected, to be saved, he knew that if he was going to get home, he would have to get there himself.
“At least my parents are looking for me,” he said, trying to weave hope into his voice for himself as well as the owl. “They must be—”
But the owl was no longer beside him. “Owl? Owl?” The boy searched the tree house and the branches outside. Finally, he spotted a small brown owl flying high in the treetops.
“Owl,” he whispered.
The hollowness inside him deepened.
His shoulders sagged, but one thing kept him buoyed: his parents were still searching; they hadn’t given up. He curled his fingers around this thought and held on to it tight. This time as he burrowed under the blanket, he believed he wouldn’t be alone for long.