-Kayla is a 19 year old high school graduate. When her parents are killed, and the case is dropped 4 years later, she is sent to live with her aunt and uncle. They treat her like their maids, forcing her to mop the floors of her mother and fathers o...
The pick above is what the cabin looks like, it's not exact though!
After around 3 long hours of riding, Calypso grew tired and so did Kayla. Suddenly, through the trees there was the remanence of a small stone wall. Not having any where to go, we followed it. It grew bigger and taller until we came to what was left of a single room trapper shack. I thought to myself "no one would ever think to look here."
As Calypso came to a stop in front of the shack his head dropped in exhaustion. His chest and neck slick with sweat from the ferocious ride. I slid the small riding saddle off his back, and he let out a great sigh of relief. Without a second thought, my mind began to wonder who had used this old shack and if it were still useable. When my first foot hit the old rotten step, it went straight threw. Calypso startled and gave a buck, throwing his ears straight up snorting and stomping in curiosity. As I freed my leg and reached the top, I could see where old pictures had hung on the wall and an old chair in the middle of the floor made me think only one person had lived here.
I made my way past the chair to the back of the shack it was a small but cozy place no more than 10ftx10ft. Just big enough for a short stay, nothing perminant but it would do for now. As I made my way outside, I noticed calypso was intently staring toward the back; ears up and nostrils flared as if he was agitated.
Cautiously stalking towards the backyard, I saw a coyote the size of a small lab scavenging for food inside of an old burning pen. Shocked and surprised, I decided to make some noise and see if he notices me. "Hey pretty boy," I crooned. The coyotes head shot up and he scampered quickly deeper into the forest. As he ran, the coyote was very sloppy and kept stumbling along.
Giving up on trying to keep an eye on the coyote, I turned around and went back into the shack. Before I had escaped my Aunt and Uncle, I packed only a few things. As I flung the pack from my back I began to notice the aches and pains from our escape. The spot on my shoulder was bare and had begun to show bruises I hadn't noticed before now but I was beginning to get hungry. My stomach began to turn and grumble. I hadn't been eating well the last few days due to the fear of what would of happened if we were caught. I had packed just a minimum amount of food because I didn't want to alert anyone of our escape.
I pulled the small amount of dried meet from its place in my bag, and decided that for this night it would have to do. As I began to eat small amounts I noticed the small coyote was making his way threw the outlying brush slowly from cover to cover. When he noticed I had seen him he stopped out in the open and crouched down as if nothing could see him. Remarkably, not moving a muscle for a small pup that was pretty good since he was no more that 10 weeks old.
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(This is the pup... he may look small but is actually half the size of a Siberian Husky.)
As I rose from my spot on the porch his eyes and ears darted forward but nothing els moved. As I made my way closer and closer, his body tensed and began to shake. Not wanting him to run off again, I tore off a piece of the jerky I was eating and lightly tossed it at him. He quickly snatched it up and wagged his tail wanting more.
Slowly creeping forward while staying crouched down, he crawled up to my feet. Fearing to get bit, I tore off another piece and threw it down to him. My body was tense and didn't move one muscle just as the coyote had done a few minutes ago. Slowly, I lean down and touch his head with the tips of my fingers. I back away slowly and as he follows I give him more jerky.
Finally, we reached the front door. Being sure not to step on the weak spot of the stairs again, I take a big step and go inside, the coyote right behind me. I decide to give him the name Alsandair.(pronounced Alls-and-er) The Irish name means protecter of man, and I'm hoping that's what he'll do for me.
Opening my bag again, I take out the few things I had packed. A small lighter, a mini re-chargeable flashlight, a pocket knife and a machete, a pot to boil water, a climbing rope, and a tarp. Most of the things I packed were "inspired" by the survival shows I watched at home with my dad before the accident. Setting the tarp out along the floor of the cabin, I head back outside. My ocean blue sleeping bag and plate sized pillow are still attached to the back of Calypso, and so I grab them and run back inside. I lay them out over the tarp and set the pillow lightly at the top. I may be on the run, but my O.C.D was to strong.
You are probably wandering what Alsandair had been doing the entire time, so to inform you; he was laying on the tarp, but not on top of my blankets. I had arranged all of the tools from my bag beside my bed and reached for one of the lighters. Digging a small hole in the dirt floor of the cabin, I picked up stray sticks outside. Alsandair had fallen asleep and didn't stir when I left, or returned. I dropped the small sticks in first and tried to light the fire with no luck. Pulling out the last thing in my pack, I opened my First Aid kit and took out a cotton ball. Thank god I paid attention to Dual Survival, I though. Setting the cotton swab in between two sticks I tried lighting the fire again. The cotton burned and slowly spread, catching the twigs on fire. I threw in some bigger sticks and stepped back to watch as the fire grew. A noise from outside startled me, and I was relieved it was only Calypso prancing around out back. Slipping back into the shack, I closed the half rotten oak door behind me. I had to yank on it a couple times, but when it finally shut, I crawled under my sleeping bag. Shutting my eyes I fell asleep to the sound of crackling sticks, and a feeling of warmth.
