Late Friday evening, the coals of Penny and Zoe’s fire in the hollow had cooled from orange to a dead and powdery gray. However, enough of their spent magic lingered to make the still air hum softly. It was a sound too low for Penny or Zoe to hear. Yet the animals that lived near Little Canyon Creek felt it and responded, converging on the spot that had been theirs alone for years, and which had only recently seen people again.
A squirrel leapt from branch to branch in the upper boughs of the willows, catching more air than it normally would have, almost seeming to hover in the open air between branches. A flock of sparrows circled, twittering madly until an owl hooted them away. A long snake cut wild, swirling wakes in the calm water near the shore of the creek.
Predators cavorted along
