41
Lincoln
I awaken to the gentlest tremble on the tree branch beneath me. Early sunlight brightens the forest as I scan all around. Nothing seems amiss.
Interesting.
Whatever causes the movement, it isn’t coming from nearby. Setting my palms against the branch, I soak in the staccato rhythm. It takes me a moment, but I place the tremor.
Footsteps.
Someone’s marching this way.
Based on the depth of the reverberation, this is quite a large group. I scan the horizon.
No sign of anyone approaching. Yet.
Minutes pass. The shaking grows more violent.
Myla wakes up. “What? Hey? Who?”
I kiss her cheek. “Good morning.”
She slaps her palms against the branch. “What’s up with the tree?”
“The problem comes from the ground. We’ll have company soon.”
A greenish line finally appears on the
