I stop, tilting my head slightly as I watch her move away. I turn around to give her privacy and lean my back against a tree. I listen to the splashing of water on her face, the way she rubs her skin with it, and that little gasp of surprise at the cold. I try to focus on other sounds: the tiny animals scurrying through the bushes, the treetops rustling with a gentle breeze, the sound of the river.
The scent of wild berries caresses my senses when Elara returns. She walks past me and heads back to the fire under my constant scrutiny. Soon, Antony and Elara settle against the cold, hard ground, each clutching their own blankets, backs turned to me. I sit against a tree, cross my ankles, arms folded across my chest, alert to any sign of someone—or something—approaching. I feel the exact mom
