Boyah Chapter 2

Did I mention Utah is dang cold! Moonshine said he wanted to go ice fishin, but I don't think he knew exactly what that entailed. First of all, when traveling in the freezing cold, you should probably get a dang a coat! All we have, is these daw-gone flannels, which if you stack up, keep you pretty dang warm. Unless of course it rains or snows, which it does often in this here desert land. Though my toes and fingers is constantly numb, I must admit, a certain tranquility transpires when the desert sands turn from brown, to white. I mean that too!
The snow flakes slip right through your fingers, like grains of sand. Folks up here call that a dry snow. I aint never heard of dry snow. Pablo says, "dry snow is like dry beer, its wet." I suppose I agree with him. Moonshine on the other hand does not seem to be bothered by the dang cold. He's like a yeti in the alps. It's like he don't even feel the bitting freezing burn that winter nips at his finger tips. His beard seems to keep him as snug as a bug in a rug. I thought he'd be like, "I hate ice fishin," but instead, he's like, "looks just like heaven." Not sure how he would know, since he aint never been there. Anywho, finished some pages on chapter 2. Hope ya'll like it. To get the book just go here: http://ow.ly/BoR9B 

CHAPTER II

FOUND & FINDING

The hollow tree trunk orients itself straight up and bobs in the water. Much like an iceberg, the longer end of the log submerges beneath the water’s surface, while the shorter end keeps Princess four feet above the water. The little girl pokes her head out of the log and holds onto the rim.

“Ouch!” she cries out, after finally putting pressure on her injured foot. The throbbing wound sorely pumps warm blood down her pulsating foot. Unable to endure the constant burning ache, she tries to survey the source, but the darkness is blinding. She uses her finger to feel along her heel. When she presses on the base of it, she jerks from the agonizing wound.

The circular cavern allows light in from only one point in the ceiling. Above the dark coral roof, a brightly lit afternoon sun shines a single beam of light through the creviced entry. When Princess bobs beneath it, it exposes the severity of her wound.

Helpless and alone, her despair clenches her abdomen in one uncontrollable, intense muscle contraction that causes her to exhale a high-pitched squeak.

Out of breath from the emotional wave that seizes her, she gasps loudly for air and screams until she’s out of breath. Her face flushes bright red as she fills her lungs to capacity, “Aaaahhhhh … aaaahhhh.” Tears pour down her cheeks. She clenches her wobbly fists and feels her trembling arms retract to her chest.

“Maaaaaa!” she shrills out in despair. Her pleas reverberate off the cavern’s glistening walls and tragically go unanswered. “Daaaaa!” she blares with a painful hoarse screech.  No comforter responds to her frantic cries.

The empty cavern that conceals her from the griffin now introduces a far more menacing foe: the emerging threat of loneliness. At first the apparition presents itself to the wailing girl with patient silence, then the physical presence of a chill. She unknowingly responds to the unwelcome guest with clattering teeth, which rattle her jaw and wobble her cheeks. A deadly dance ensues with a predator that has no fang, no claw, and no appetite, only fatal patience.

Instinctively, she puts her lame limb on top of her other foot and presses herself against the rim of the hollow tree trunk, an act that serendipitously stops the bleeding.

Rising and lowering tides lull Princess into an eventual state of calm. The brine scent of the ocean reminds her of the coast from whence she came. The tortured child rocks side-to-side to the soothing symphony of condensing water droplets, which change pitch as they loose from the moist ceiling and report the cavern’s depth in the surrounding darkness.

Princess wraps her rigid arms tightly around herself for comfort and warmth. She watches the blasting beam of sunlight distance itself, as she drifts into a dark tunnel. She waves goodbye to the amber light. Control slips from her fingers and she sighs, her chest heaves and her frail shoulders quake. Rather than resist, she lets go. 

The diminutive child tilts her pointy chin forward and captures heat from each frail puff of breath. Her damp burlap dress and distressed topaz eyes fade into the pulling darkness with each drag and tug of the swelling tide. Her pale face looms in the shadows, like the waning moon, until the pulling current vanishes her into the deep unknown.

As the tides change with the passing time, Princess is painfully reminded that if she leans too far forward, she’ll dip face first into the freezing salty water.

“Be still,” she whimpers. “Be so very still.”

Though Princess' immature mind is like a budding seed, it is the nature of all intelligence to glean facts that will improve one’s self-preservation. On such occasions, the mind starts signaling the body to safeguard itself by unraveling a distinct, vulnerable, mortal truth: death is never very far from life

 “Our eyes, our hearts, and our wits.” Princess juvenilely repeats her mother’s last lesson. “That’s what we have in common, Ma.”

She opens her eyes and resents the harsh reality before her. With a heavy sigh, Princess dismisses the last flickering moments of her mortality and prepares to be reunited with her mother.

The dance progresses, the cadence now determined by the dull thud of waves smashing against the hollow coral wall.

“Ahhhhh!” Princess screams when the vessel smashes against the hard wall. Her nerves pull tight, snapping her back into the fight for survival.

“Our eyes, our hearts, and our wits,” she repeats, as she shifts her weight, trying to stabilize the log.

A cool howling breeze blows through the cavern and nips at her cheeks. She feels herself going faster and faster, the wind and the darkness brush against her face.

“Our eyes,” Princess presses her finger hard against her eye, encouraged by her mother’s last counsel. “Our hea—ahhhh!” she screams as the rushing current speeds her along the dark depth. “Wits!” she screams in terror, pushing both hands against her tightly shut eyelids. “Our wits, that’s what we have Ma, our wits!”

Spared by a cruel twist, the rushing water suddenly ejects the child into the open ocean. Drifting a short distance off the coast, the bobbing log defies the unabated gray ocean the satisfaction of filling Princess’ little lungs.

Princess huddles down against the amnesty of the only friend she has, the sturdy English oak. She keeps her eyes shut and expects to see the glowing white spirit of her mother at any dreadful moment.

Princess buries her face in her hands and cries, “You’re wrong Ma. I’ve no courage. I’m a little coward!”

Warmth from the late day sun tempts her to release her pressing hands, but fear locks them in place. After a considerable time, she surrenders to the inevitable reality of her senses. A seagull’s cawing finally emboldens her and she pries her fingers from her eyes. Timidly, Princess rises. Her frazzled, tangled hair crests the scratchy, splintered rim, followed by a set of jewel blue eyes.

Princess looks out over the vast body of water and finds a distant coastline rising up from the rippling gray horizon. The sun begins to set behind faraway jagged peaks. She wipes the remaining tears from her pink cheeks.

The large golden ball gradually descends behind gray cloud cover, changing the firmament from smoke ash to pink tufts. The rippling ocean transforms where the sun’s amber rays peek out and cascade across the tips of the sparkling golden waves. Slowly, the sun sets behind the shadowy mountains, exposing their abundant green vegetation. 

Off in the distant horizon, two dragon silhouettes fly into the setting sun. Brilliant yellow light glows in one final supreme display before the day is gone. One by one, tiny stars pop out of the dusky heavens. 

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