A squeal and a yip pierced the night, shooting fear like an electric shock throughout Phillip’s body. From deep in the woods came more yips, squeals, and then eventually, a howl.
They weren’t alone.
While Cedar snoozed on, serenely tucked into her birth tree, Phillip thought his heart would burst. He popped up, squinting into the cool night. Of course he could see nothing. Even with his headlamp, the beam didn’t go far very into the night. Only a few feet of forest floor were illuminated.
Coyotes. Would they come for him? For Cedar? He shivered, gulped.
But then he turned and looked back at Cedar. She was almost glowing under the soft moonlight, tucked in around her tree. So comfortable. So trusting.
She had said that the animals knew when humans are present—all the time. They are more scared of us then we are of them. Right now, he wasn’t so sure about that. He walked back over and sat right next to Cedar. As he heard more yips and howls he sunk in next to her, trying to slow his breathing. They were together, in these woods tonight. He never thought he could do anything like he did that day. No one could take this away, no matter what.
At any moment, they could be coming for them. Police, doctors, their parents, or teachers. As the howls in the distance called on, Phillip just tried to listen. They were electric, alive, fierce. Just as he was on this night. Every cell of him felt awake, open, waiting.
He reached over and took Cedar’s hand. He wouldn’t sleep. He wanted to be ready for what happened next. The fall night danced around him—cool, crisp air, owls calling, coyotes in the distance. And he was a part of it.
Sometime in between the worlds of day and night—the gray time when shapes move from behind shadows, Phillip fell asleep.
That is, until leaves crunched and a twig snapped. Someone was coming. And both Cedar and Phillip slept sweetly under Stella, barely visible in the grey and dawning light.