Withering Hope by Hagen Layla

Author:Hagen, Layla [Hagen, Layla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Layla Hagen
Published: 2015-01-17T16:00:00+00:00

"Can we slow down a bit, please?" I pant a week later, during our daily raid in the forest for food. "I need to rest a bit."

"I'd rather we got to the plane, Aimee."

"Just one minute, please."

"Fine," he scrutinizes me, as if expecting me to collapse at his feet any minute now, which is possible. "Rest here a few minutes until I collect some more fruit. I saw some ripe ones up there." He points to a tree to our right. "I'll keep an eye on you."

"I have no doubt," I say in a whisper that's covered by the squawk of some kind of animal hiding in the tree. The sounds of life scurrying in every direction, on every inch of the forest don't frighten me as much as they used to. Not the croaks, or shrills, or the chorus of other indistinguishable buzzing noises. I can't quite say the same about the howls of predators, but I'm trying to channel that fear into learning how to defend myself.

The minute Tristan turns his back to me and starts climbing the tree, I drop the fruit I’m carrying, rest against a tree, and draw deep breaths. I close my eyes. I can't go on like this. My insomnia is worse. Between Tristan's nightmares and my consuming guilt, I never manage to sleep more than an hour a night. I can’t concentrate, and I'm paying for it. Yesterday I stumbled over some roots and cut my left foot, so now I'm limping. Tristan insisted he put antibiotics on it so that wiped out half of our meagre supply. If something worse happens, we have next to nothing to treat ourselves with. I need to sleep more, or I'll become a liability soon. What with a fresh set of jaguar prints we discovered yesterday inside our fence, I can't afford that. The good part is that we are almost sure it's just that one jaguar. The bad part is that since he keeps coming back, he must have found the place interesting. Tristan still insists we should do all tasks together, and I'm not against the idea anymore. Whenever he disappears from my eyesight, even for just a few seconds, I'm terrified that something might have happened to him.

We haven't yet found a strong enough poison. Tristan tried countless plants that looked poisonous last week, taking their leaves and making concoctions out of them. He tested the poisoned arrows on a few poor, unsuspecting birds. The results weren't great. In fact, not even good.

"Aimee."

I startle, opening my eyes. I dozed off.

"Are you okay?" Tristan asks.

"Yeah, unless an army of ants crept up my arms again." This is a lesson I've learned the hard way: never sit on the forest floor or rest against a tree for more than a few seconds. Insects and reptiles hide on tree bark, ready to strike when they get the chance.

"Gather your fruit, I'll carry everything else. We should go back."

I unhitch myself from the tree, inspecting my arms.

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