dormouse in the lion's jaws - august + noah day 1

We decided for the best tree climber of our group to scout the lay of the land, a reasonable enough task for the first day. I was relieved to have an excuse to be by myself for a half hour or so, and a break from the responsibility I feel from being around them. Not that they ask much of me except to be there, another person to watch their backs, and a mutual sense of caring. But that’s just it, isn’t it? The weight of taking care of others here, when I am still figuring out how to look out for myself.

The canopy of the forest grows gradually taller, more dense and tangled. It’s older here, judging from the width of the moss-laden trunks–maybe over a century. The topmost branches squeeze the rays of sunlight between their twisted fingers until there’s nothing left for the packed earth floor where I’m walking, growing ever cooler and darker.

My footsteps slow to a halt as I realize that this might not be such a good idea. I’m sure that it’s only late afternoon, but I can see that it becomes even darker up ahead. If I continue into the trees, it won’t be long before I’m walking blind. Who knows what creatures hide in there, just out of reach of the sunlight.

But when I turn to leave, I see that I’ve already been ambushed. ”Shhhhit!” I hiss, stiffening up, grasping around my body for a weapon, any of the three that I’m carrying. I land on the silver throwing knife I found in the rubble fields, and clutch its tiny handle. In my hand, it looks no bigger than the stinger of a bee.

As tall and heavy as he is, Noah Vau had made no sound as he approached me. Am I seriously so hard of hearing? Or was I just enjoying my solitude so much that I became totally absorbed in my own thoughts?

”Noah,” I say in greeting, trying to calm my nerves, buy myself time. But his hand is relaxed around the handle of his spear.

I think of our sparring match in the training center. How quickly he seemed to move out of range of every punch I threw, sometimes turning my momentum against me to throw me on the floor. Every time he did it, he picked me back up in a brilliant display of sportsmanship. Though display isn’t quite right. It wasn’t showy. Just kind. Like he had really been trying to teach me.

I know that he knows at least 100 ways to kill me right now. But I lower my knife and raise a hand in a gesture of peace, backing away slowly. Really it’s a gesture of please don’t kill me here, alone.

”I never told you, but thanks for the sparring lesson. I–uhh, need to get back.”

My fallback plan for making it through this hell. Begging for my life.

_{D A R S}