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filled.  June is grateful.  After a little more reassuring, I set off and begin my journey past our area of safety.
    The sun has just risen and it is not hot yet, but it will be soon.  The air is balmy and the grass is coated in dew.  My skin feels clammy, but I am oddly cold.  I grip my spear tightly and use it as a walking stick as I navigate creepers and vines that slink along the forest floor.  My weapons and canteen are heavy, and I hope I do not have to go too far to find an edible animal. 
    Hunger has heightened my sense of smell.  The forest is thick with the scent of evergreens and musty earth.  My eyes alternate between scanning the low-growing brush and the ground below.  I look for pinecones stripped of their seeds, for torn bark or bite marks of any kind.  I do not see anything but thickening vegetation.  I am also looking for impressions in the earth or droppings.  Either would indicate that I am on the trail of a mammal.  But I see neither.  Most would be active when the sun is positioned as it is.  Boarts eat all day long.  I hope I will be lucky enough to cross paths with another boart, but I do not see any signs of wildlife whatsoever.  I continue to press on despite feeling discouraged. 
    The sun is beating down from overhead , penetrating the treetop canopy with blazing shafts of light, when the terrain becomes so crowded with growth it is difficult to continue at my brisk pace.  Earlier, I began pulling large flat leaves and twisting them before tying them to trees as markers to follow back to the cave.  My dad always told me I was a good tracker with an excellent sense of direction, but I do not want to risk breaking the promise I made to June.  I will not take any chances that involve a return to her after sunset.  I do not want her to worry. 
    I still have not come across so much as a trace of a creature other than the occasional chirping of small birds perched in treetops.  I am about to turn and head back, to give up, when I hear the distinct sound of moving water, the gentle hiss and rustle of it rolling over land and rock.  Winding vines and undergrowth are giving way to more stony terrain underfoot.  The heavy brush thins considerably, and sudden thirst grips me. 
    My body feels overheated and the back of my throat burns.  I want nothing more than to spear an animal and wade out into cool water.  But neither seems possible at the moment.  I continue for a bit longer and do not see rushing water.  I decide to sit, depression crushing my chest like lead.  Hunger gnaws in my gut, and I am forced to scoop a beetle from the dank soil and eat it.  I close my eyes and slip it between my lips.  All the while I suppress the urge to retch.  I chew fast and try my best not to think about what I have just eaten.  I chug the last of my water from my canteen, but still feel as if I may vomit.  I breathe deeply several times, willing myself to hold it down, until the feeling passes. 
    After a brief rest, I stand again and hope to find food.  All of a sudden a high-pitched laugh slices through the silence.  I freeze in my tracks and my stomach plummets to my feet.  I hold my breath, listening intently, waiting, hoping my hearing is playing tricks on me.  The laugh sounded as if it came from June.  Who else could it be?  She must have followed me, putting us both at greater risk.  My heart thunders in my chest. 
    I whirl around, half-expecting to see her, but find that I am still alone.  The laughter sounds again, persisting this time.  I follow it, wondering why she would draw attention to herself.  She knows better. 
    I sheathe my spear on my back and I plow through bushes dotted with prickly balls, feeling them scratch and scrape my skin, but do not stop.  I must get to June before she gets us killed. 
    Suddenly, the laughter is interrupted by another, slightly deeper laugh; a boy’s laugh.  I move faster.  Blood rushes behind my eardrums and my heart has