As we walked along the river, butterflies jumped as they swam upstream in the indigo froth. A flock of squirrels, above, dipped and dived into the water. I’d been told my entire life that the animals had been corrupted by a spill from the Drygen Cannery. As I looked at the trout scamper past before burying into the brush, I wondered if magic was the real reason.
When a tiny trout squeaked and hustled to catch up with its family, I remembered the day Cole took me to learn how to hunt. In the end, he refused to teach me how to predate them. He said it was silly for me to learn. He promised he’d always be there to take care of me. He was wrong.
He was wrong.The indescribable smell of the fresh water rushed at me and I knew we were close to the rocky shore of Sparrow Lake. I wondered how muc
