Night Wings by Joseph Bruchac & Sally Wern Comport

Author:Joseph Bruchac & Sally Wern Comport [Bruchac, Joseph & Comport, Sally Wern]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: History, Fiction, General, Monsters, Horror & Ghost Stories, Juvenile Fiction, Legends; Myths; Fables, United States, People & Places, Social Science, Ethnic Studies, Native American Studies, Native American, Other, Abenaki Indians, Indians of North America, Northeastern States, Indians of North America - Northeastern States, Washington; Mount (N.H.)
ISBN: 9780061123184
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-06-16T22:00:00+00:00

We’ve been on the hidden trail for an hour now and we are way off any of the regular hiking routes. I’ve actually walked part of this very trail before with my grandfather, but everything seems different today. Usually when I am out in the woods, every step I take that leads me away from roads and cars and the sounds of the modern world feels like a step toward freedom. Not so today.

And there is something else. The land around us, even the sky above us, feels different. Do you know how sometimes the air seems to tremble because a big storm is coming? It’s that kind of feeling. The air has that clean, edgy scent of ozone in it.

I look up at the sky and squint my eyes. There’s not a cloud in sight, but I think I can see something way up there, circling. Maybe it’s an eagle. Maybe not. I know it isn’t an airplane. I actually haven’t seen a single vapor trail from a jet since we left the van hidden in that spruce thicket, and on a clear day like today that’s strange. Commercial jets cross over here all the time, and air force planes also use the sky over the White Mountains. In fact, I remember one time when Grampa Peter and I were walking a trail not far from here and a whole group of those little single-passenger ultralight planes came buzzing over like lawn mowers with wings. But today there’s nothing.

Someone shoves me hard in the back.

“Move,” a voice growls.

I don’t have to look back to know it’s Tip. He’s probably hoping I’ll fall down when he pushes me, like Grampa Peter did. He’s itching to get a kick in on one of us when Field isn’t looking. I keep my balance, even with the heavy pack on my back, and continue on up the trail.

Oh yeah, the pack: Field strapped it to me before we started on the trail. I’m not sure what it contains, but there has to be at least forty pounds of stuff in it. I’m used to backpacking, so I’m not having much trouble carrying it, though I do resent being both a doomed captive and a beast of burden. Yet another reason for me to glare at Field’s broad back as he strides up the trail ahead of me, unencumbered by anything other than a walking stick.

When we set out, I’d wondered how the four of them would do hiking a trail. I sort of hoped that they’d be soft and not used to this kind of mountain walking. I imagined them stumbling and falling and getting worn out to the point where Grampa Peter and I could slip away from them.

No such luck. The four of them seem to be experienced hikers, and even Louise changed into well-worn hiking boots before we started on our trek. I guess they have all gotten toughened up by searching out forbidden mysteries in other parts of the world and gracing other indigenous people like me and Grampa Peter with their friendly presence.

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