The leaves had lost the morning dew and bashed her skin as she traced her way into the forest. The previously cleared paths were beginning to lose their visibility as the grasses tried to sprout their heads from them. It was becoming difficult to see the white sands, and even more difficult to keep the familiarity away.
The moist decaying smell, the constant whistles of the birds, the shimmering sunlight which filtered from the canopies of the tall trees, creating a warmth that made her remember her evenings with her husband.
She was trading this path again. Not because she was out to hunt. No, this was different. She was different. Those abandoned children were making her different.
Gathering her sling on her waist, she rounded the last bend.
Dried bones and leaves crushed under he
