Planet Urth by Jennifer Martucci, Christopher Martucci Page A

bit of my energy on the space surrounding me.  Every twig that snaps, every shuffle of leaves and stir of treetops sets my heightened senses on even higher alert.  I lower my stance to a crouch, clutching the hilt of my sword as I dash through the woods.  I swear I feel eyes on me.  But what I believe are the sounds of footsteps following me stops me dead in my tracks. I unsheathe my sword and spin around, ready to fight.  I expect to see the deadly, milky-eyed stare of an Urthman.  Instead, I see a plump rabbit watching me with oversized eyes that sit unusually close together on its face.  I take bold step toward it, warning it off.  It hops away, but not before unhinging its jaw, showcasing its impressive fangs, and hissing at me.
    I contemplate running after it and adding rabbit to our boart feast later, but I do not have the time.  Each moment I am not moving is a moment wasted.  I slowly turn from the rabbit’s path and head to the lake. 
    My run-in with the Urthme n the day before has shattered my feeble sense of safety.  Now, as I tread in unfamiliar territory, I feel an added element of fear.  I believe these woods could be overrun with Urthmen.  I quicken my pace and jog; thankful for the boart meat I ate this morning.  It supplies me with enough energy to continue until the sun is high overhead and the twisting vines underfoot become so dense and tangled that I must slow down.  As I do, I hear the river and know the lake is nearby.  My moment has come.
    When I reach the edge of the woods , where the trees grow farther apart and the brush thins, I see them.  The family is out of their cave and sprinkled around the lake.  I must go to them.  It is the reason I came. 
    I slide one foot forward , and it feels heavier than usual, unstable.  I am dizzy and nauseated.  I feel cold though it is warm.  My palms are damp and the base of my throat throbs in time with my racing heartbeat.  My mind wills my body to move, but my body is reluctant to cooperate.  I am a quivering bundle of contradicting signals.  I do not understand what is happening to me.  I have slain wild animals, have fought and killed mutant beasts known as Urthmen, but those tasks generated less of a physical response than my current undertaking.  I feel as if I may need to vomit.  I pull in a sharp breath of air in hopes it will have the same effect as before.  To my surprise, it does not.  Instead, my legs are shaking violently.  So I do what has become typical of me in recent days.  I duck behind a hostile-looking bush and stay there to try to build my courage.
    My cheeks burn .  I am embarrassed of my behavior.  The family’s safety depends on me alerting them that a threat is on the horizon.  I cannot let them die because I am a coward.  I will not live with more blood on my hands.
    I stand, emboldened by the knowledge that lives depend on me.  I close my eyes briefly, and then take a step forward, then another, and another.  I keep going, putting one foot in front of the other, until I am at the shore of the lake.  I see all of them, the entire family.  Each of their heads whips in my direction.  I quickly raise my hands up, my palms facing outward, in surrender.  I do not want them to feel threatened.  I want to communicate that I will not do them harm. 
    “Hello,” I say because I do not know what else to say.  I have not seen another human being in a long time.  My socialization has been limited to June in the last year. 
    Glances volley from one person to the next, and though I have been consciously avoiding looking at the boy with the aquamarine eyes, I turn my head and meet his gaze. A small smile plays across his lips. 
    My breath catches in my chest.  I wonder if he is smiling at me because he is happy to see me, or if I have done something stupid.  Thankfully, his mother’s voice yanks me from fretting about it.
    “You can put y our hands down,” she says.  “You are not a