Twenty-Five
By the time Freya crawled from the tent the next morning, the sun and azure sky hit her with a glare that stung her eyes. She squinted at a frying pan beside the newly re-built fire, the savory scent of fresh cooked bacon and eggs being what had pulled her from the tent in the first place.
She perched on a toppled log also beside the fire; wary over being alone with no sign of Max nearby.
A high-pitched screech came from high up in the trees. Try as she did, she couldn’t see much, though she knew enough to recognize that the call belonged to a cockatoo.
Then again, bugger the bird, all she really wanted was Max.
Her heartbeat picked up pace, and she peered behind her, shrinking at the idea of having to venture too far from the tent in search of him. A loud snap came from u
