To Swear By the Stars

Part Two

Cara opened her eyes to find the cold stream washing over her, soaking her skin and clothes. Her fingertips were pruney, a clear indication she'd been in the water at least twenty minutes, but, most likely, a lot more because the storm that had seemed so far away, just minutes ago, had arrived in a burst of wind, white lightning and sporadic waves of rain.

Cara brought her wet hands to her face and shook her head, trying to clear the confusion from her mind. As severe pain hit her once more, she rested her head again in the muddy bank. Above it all, peeking through the tops of the trees, was a cluster of black clouds, coming together to make the shape of a lion. She focused on it until the wind smeared its face away. When she could sit up, she saw the inevitable: the ride that had brought her all this way and that had showed her things she'd never dreamed she'd see no longer graced the edge of that cliff. Her lifeline home was gone.

It's not as though she had expected it to still be gleaming there in the now-partial sunlight. Cara had already come to terms with the situation while lying here, soaking her pain away. Over the course of her twenty-eight years on Earth, despite her loving family and friends, she'd experienced some of the darkness that seemed to overpower certain individuals, and her time overseas had shown her what hate and greed really was. However, no betrayal had ever erased her faith in optimism. But this was a good start. She had learned that hope was never a mistake, just a letdown.

• • •

By the time Cara found Ravera's camp, at the edge of a large grassy meadow, the sun had just touched the horizon. She used what little time she had before twilight to familiarize herself with the setup. A burnt-out stone fire pit, stacked extrahigh to keep the wind from the flames, contained the soot-covered bones of a large bird. The remains of a lookout shelter or a hunting blind—camouflaged by heaps of mud, leaves, sticks and grass—sat half-collapsed amid a pile of freshly cut logs, most likely for cooking, not warmth.

Protruding from the top of a nearby small cave was a makeshift overhang, constructed from wood and dark clay, which kept the drizzle off Cara's shoulders. Inside, it was clear this cavity, no bigger than a couple prison cells, would only provide protection from the weather. A log table held a homemade compass, shredded clothing and a small revolver; Cara searched for ammunition, but only found spent casings. The bed, made from smaller branches and covered in thousands of long dried blades of grass, hung suspended off the floor a good fifteen inches. Cara lay down, curled into the fetal position and tried like hell to hold back her tears.

Aside from hiking in the mountains of Colorado and her year spent in Afghanistan's desert, Cara didn't have much experience surviving off the land. In college, she had planned to spend a few weeks camping with a boyfriend within Roosevelt National Forest, but wildfires had erupted that July, canceling their trip. Being on her own, with no one to call on when she was in need, had never been a concern. With a vast network of family and friends, plus her colleagues at the school and her unit in Afghanistan, Cara seldom found herself alone in any situation. But, if the last few hours had taught her anything, it was that she was very alone.

• • •

From her position on the bed, Cara listened to the wildlife, chirping and hollering from just beyond the cave's entrance. Out there existed a world full of the unknown, and, as the abnormally bright moonlight exposed it all, the night lingered on while Cara's hope faded that Ravera would return.

That familiar, soothing whoosh of air, displaced by giant wings high above the landscape, whisked by. The storm had passed, and Cara's tears had dried. But, when a burst of quick sharp snarls cut through the calm atmosphere, meshing in tone and way too close for comfort, she backed herself against the cave's solid stone, freezing her movements and holding her breath.