Healing

Last night as Henry and I were making our journey to the white mountains, Henry thought that someone was following us. As we broke into a run a stone flew out of under my shoe, and I lost footing. My ankle twisted painfully and I collapsed onto the ground. I heard the footsteps coming closer and then as I tried to get away a piece of wool rubbed against my face. We had been running from little, harmless, white sheep. In this darkness we had not noticed that we were in the middle of a sheep pasture. My foot was throbbing so hard that I new it would take more than one day to heal.

Along the way we had seen an abandoned cottage. Henry gave me a fire man's lift, stopping every so often to rest. When he plopped me down on a pile of hay I conked out.

The next morning I groggily woke up and looked around the cottage I was in. Then I noticed that I was totally alone. Henry was nowhere in sight. Then I looked at the spot where I had dropped my stuff and nothing was there. That no good rat had gone off without me and had taken my sack with all my food. Then I heard some one calling for me. When I looked outside Henry was there. It had turned out that he had gone to town to steal some food. He had taken my sack to carry stuff in. Actually Henry might not be that bad after all.

As I lay on my bed of hay I think about my journey that I am going on. I wonder what it will be like with no caps and no tripods. I know it will be a very different life. A life in the White Mountains.