Dear Darla
12-04-2018, 10:15 PM
A sound behind him sent Balsam sprinting for the nearest cedar. He hit the trunk at an all out run and was high into the boughs and bathed in shadows before the first flecks of bark hit the ground. All that could be seen of him was the shine of his eyes.
He'd picked a poor night to be begin his journey. The moon overhead was full and bright, and it was nearly impossible to cross the open spaces without being seen. There was cover under trees, but so far the vast majority of his travels had been done in the open. Needless to say, the boy was wound tight. He was unaccustomed to traveling so openly. It simply wasn't the way it was done; wasn't the way he'd been taught. Hopefully that was to his favor, though, as none would suspect him of taking the path he was on and he'd been careful to disguise his trail in the beginning.
Balsam squinted into the distance; eyes straining for familiar shapes or purposeful movements. He'd gone to great lengths to hide his plans from those who would stop him and while he could have picked a better night, the rest of his schemes were sound. None of the detractors would (hopefully) know he was gone until sunrise when the village began to wake. No doubt his mother would rise early and sound the alarm, but by then it would be too late.
After several minutes spent in tense silence Balsam decided the sound he'd heard hadn't come from a pursuer. He crept from his hiding place and, careful to move from shadow to shadow, began to make his way back down to the ground.
He'd picked a poor night to be begin his journey. The moon overhead was full and bright, and it was nearly impossible to cross the open spaces without being seen. There was cover under trees, but so far the vast majority of his travels had been done in the open. Needless to say, the boy was wound tight. He was unaccustomed to traveling so openly. It simply wasn't the way it was done; wasn't the way he'd been taught. Hopefully that was to his favor, though, as none would suspect him of taking the path he was on and he'd been careful to disguise his trail in the beginning.
Balsam squinted into the distance; eyes straining for familiar shapes or purposeful movements. He'd gone to great lengths to hide his plans from those who would stop him and while he could have picked a better night, the rest of his schemes were sound. None of the detractors would (hopefully) know he was gone until sunrise when the village began to wake. No doubt his mother would rise early and sound the alarm, but by then it would be too late.
After several minutes spent in tense silence Balsam decided the sound he'd heard hadn't come from a pursuer. He crept from his hiding place and, careful to move from shadow to shadow, began to make his way back down to the ground.