Afraid? Never!

“Are you ready?”

Isaac pulled on his second shoe and nodded in the affirmative. We stepped off the porch and headed for the woodpile. It had been a full day. We had started out expecting to brave the wilderness, five companions, all ranging from nine to four years old, ready to prove our fortitude, ingenuity, and courage over the course of twenty-five whole days. 

Now, here we were. Only Isaac, second to youngest, and I the oldest were still resolved enough to spend at least one night outside.

Earlier I had contemplated joining our three companions, who had given up the excitement of a challenge for the warm security of the house, but I couldn’t let myself give in. 

Determined, Isaac and I headed for a place to camp, not in the deep wilds of course; not with only the two of us. It was good judgment that made us choose to stay within a safe distance of the house. We had given up on every other part of our original plan, even eating supper with everyone else inside, instead of foraging for the wild edibles I had claimed to know so much about. Besides, Dad promised to keep the front door unlocked in case we needed anything in the night. Perhaps we might even decide to come back inside permanently. We didn’t think there was any chance of that happening, but if he was going to keep the door unlocked, we might as well be as close to the house as we could.

We set to work rolling some unsplit chunks of wood in a circle around our chosen site. If we couldn’t build shelters, as the flimsy products of our limited architectural skill had proved that afternoon, at least we could feel like we were protected.

“You guys have fun,” our eldest brother Trey called out as he and his wife passed, heading out for a night walk on Minikin Rill.

“Don’t let the coyote’s get ya’,” Clair exclaimed playfully as the pair vanished into the blueish-black darkness.

“We’re not scared of coyotes, are we Isaac?” He grinned as if I had just suggested something ridiculous. Us? Afraid? Never.

We gathered leaves and piled them in the middle of our safe place for warmth. We probably didn’t need them; it was only late summer. Everything prepared, we crunched and crinkled around in the dry leaves until we were comfortable, spread our blankets over us and discussed our situation. It really wasn’t bad. We were warm, relaxed, and sheltered. In the morning the others would regret they hadn’t joined us.

Slowly we became conscious of the night sounds. They were different when you were outside, but it was fun calling out what creatures made those sounds. Crickets. Owl. Horse. Whippoorwill. Coyote.

We bolted upright. From the direction of Minikin Rill came two strains of the high, wailing, varied song of the coyote. For a moment we gripped one another’s hands and then we realized …

“It’s only Trey and Clair,” I whispered.

“They tried to scare us,” Isaac whispered back.

I nodded, and we both settled back down. They weren’t fooling anybody now. A little later both “coyotes” emerged from the woods and laughed with us over their little joke before saying goodnight and heading home.

Peace and quietude returned. We gazed at the stars, sometimes visible through the leaf filled branches of the trees. Yes, it wasn’t so bad after all. A few minutes passed in silence, and then the whole night calm seemed to explode. Hundreds of short howls punctuated by staccato yips and barks pierced the stillness. There was no joking going on this time; we knew it was the real thing.

We sat there only a second, listening to those eerie calls which sounded so close. It wouldn’t have been surprising to have seen two glowing yellow eyes peering down at us over our barrier of logs. We looked at one another and without saying a word, grabbed our blankets, tripped over the wood, raced each other back to the house and didn’t give one backward glance until the front door was securely closed behind us.

No one was in bed yet; we hadn’t been outside for little more than ten minutes. They all looked at us wonderingly while we stood panting beside the door, eyes wide, hair disheveled, our blankets trailing in with them bits of bark, dirt, and leaves. We explained. Our three former companions, lingering on the stairway to hear our story, wanted to smile at our apparent faintness of heart but refrained. They hadn’t been brave enough to join us in the first place. Later, in bed, I was free to reflect calmly on what had happened. Prudence had brought us to the house, I concluded. Afraid? Never!

-Halayah