LJIdol Week 11 (b) - If the Creek Don’t Rise
The driving beat of heavy footfalls rings out across the plain, the world awakening to a quick symphonic first act allegro. As the stars disappear overhead into the dark blue of morning, two figures emerge covering the ground at a swift pace, taking advantage of the last bits of cool dry air. A great distance still remains before them, and the time that is conducive to high speed travel is nearing its end.
Where once full darkness reigned, long shadows are beginning to appear in front of them. As the sun brings rays of heat, the pair slow their sprint in stages until they move finally in a mere brisk walk. The trees are clearly visible on the horizon, but they are still many miles away.
“Will we make it, Ulva?”
Ulva stops briefly, looks up to the sky, and tilts her head back to the east, hoping for a sign. There is a heavy red tinge above the sun. Red sky in morning, sailors take warning. But this is land, not sea. And she isn’t sure yet what it means for today.
“Too soon to tell. Too far to stop and rest though, just in case. Keep up with me, Phelan. First we need to get to that shade before we overheat.”
Together they step back into stride, focusing their energies forward, and continue heading west towards the forest.
--
“Do you think they will arrive before the rain?”
Abitha stays silent, ignoring the question. What would be, would be. Only time would tell.
“When do you think the rain will get here?”
This time Abitha glances up from her mid-morning meal to meet Hershel’s eyes. They are a bright brown and each one reflects the light from the sun in a golden crescent. And they are wide and filled with fear.
She sighs lightly, smiles inwardly, and then raises her head and listens to the rustling of the leaves high above, smelling the future on the wind. She really loves it here. She’s pretty sure Hershel does too. The food is plentiful and there is natural shelter from the elements. It’s a shame they can’t just stay here forever.
“Not for a few hours, I suspect. The clouds are still thin, and the birds haven’t flown off yet.”
Abitha drops her head and goes back to her meal, chewing slowly, savoring the taste of the wilderness. Nearby, Hershel continues to pace in a circle, eyes flicking regularly to the east.
In the gully just beyond his sightline, he can hear the sound of the creek slowly trickling along over the smoothed rocks, its melody merging with the whispering wind. The world emphasizing its slow second symphonic movement adagio.
--
As the sun passes its zenith, Phelan and Ulva walk steadily westward under the forest canopy. The tracks they follow are older and faint, but not difficult to follow. They had long ago run through their entire collection of conversational topics. For a couple hours now, they have walked in silence among the trees, Ulva taking the lead most of the time. She was better at staying on course anyway. And while not being the leader meant Phelan’s view rarely changed, he had to admit it was a pretty good view.
Their westward journey through the last miles of plains had been brutally hot, and the humidity had risen steadily. In the last hour before they reached the edge of the woods, dark clouds had begun to form over the trees. But they provided no shelter from the sun. It wasn’t until the leaves reached out to cover them that they were protected at last.
Here, where the sky was barely visible, the only sign of the oncoming storm was the wind that swirled around them. But as they skirt the edge of a clearing, they can see the nearby leaves turned over in preparation of nourishment. It wouldn’t be long now. Time is running short and the day’s third movement, their minuet, is coming to an end. They pick up their pace once more, Phelan breathing hard as he pushes to keep up.
--
“The rain is getting heavy. What should we do?”
The storm, combined with Hershel’s non-stop questions, has put Abitha on edge. A decision is needed, and soon. She walks along the edge of the creek which is flowing heavier, gaining in both width and depth. They could cross it now and make a run for it to the north and try to find shelter. They could stay on this side and hope for the best. Choices without clear outcomes. There might not even be a choice to make in a few minutes.
To leave or to stay. A constant recurring theme in life, making up the last movement, or rondo, of the day.
“They’re coming, I can feel it. But how far away are they?” Hershel pulls up close beside Abitha, staring at the creek’s increased size and shape. It is almost like he can see it growing before his eyes.
--
“Almost there Phelan. I can smell the change in the air.”
Though she is soaked through, Ulva feels more alive now as she nears her destination. The rain is coming in torrents, and the dwindling number of trees provides little protection.
“I’m so hungry, Ulva. Can we make it? Will we even be able to get to them?”
“If we run like the wolves we are, we will. Long as the creek don’t rise.”
--
“Hershel, I think we better stay and wait it out. And danger be damned, I like it here. Besides, we don’t know that running will be any better. Even deer and gazelle like us can only move so fast in this weather.”
“But they’re nearly here! Are we going to be safe just staying put?”
Abitha looks down, pondering the not yet raging water, then looks up to the east, and contemplates their fate.
“Not if the creek don’t rise.”