Snowfire by Terri Farley Page A

sometimes.
    â€œTrue,” Ann agreed, laughing.
    â€œHey,” Megan said, wagging her index finger at the other girls, “you just wait. If Conch doesn’t getsold right out from under me, then you can say this was about Cade.”
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    Darby, Ann, and Jonah parked the truck at the drop-off point at the foot of the trails to the Two Sisters volcanoes.
    The drop-off point was sort of a staging area for trips up to the volcanoes. On the edge of the small parking lot there was a water spigot for filling canteens, a bulletin board for messages and announcements, and a sign-in sheet. This land belonged to Jonah and Aunt Babe. It had been given to them by their mother, Tutu, and an invisible border ran between the two volcanoes.
    But Aunt Babe and Jonah agreed on two permanent rules: Everyone who went up toward the Two Sisters had to print their name on the sign-in sheet, and no one was allowed beyond the stone trees, which were two miles from the craters of the volcanoes.
    Dusk hadn’t fallen yet, but a mist in the air blurred the peaks of the twin volcanoes, making them look even more magical.
    Darby rode Navigator at a slow and steady pace up the steep terrain. She had loaded her fanny pack with her flashlight, inhaler, some water, and a granola bar, all of which bumped along behind her as they rode.
    Jonah was ahead of her on Kona, his big gray cow horse, and Ann was behind, rocking in the saddle withBiscuit’s steady gait. They passed ohia trees with blazing red blooms, also called Pele trees after the fiery goddess said to rule the volcanoes.
    The last time they’d been up here, one of the Two Sisters had erupted. Darby tried not to think about it, but the Pele trees reminded her of Tutu’s tale about the white stallion, who was only one of many forms that Pele’s brother Moho could assume.
    He was the god of steam, and another of Pele’s brothers, who sometimes took the form of a black stallion, was the god of thunderclouds.
    Snowfire, god of steam.
    Black Lava, the god of thunderclouds.
    It struck Darby as poetic that these two roamed together, just as they did in the legend.
    â€œYou girls are quiet,” Jonah commented as he ducked to pass under a branch laden with low-hanging lehua blossoms.
    â€œI guess I’m getting a little tired,” Ann admitted. “That doctoring race—getting on and off of Lady Wong, who must be seventeen hands tall—”
    â€œSixteen,” Jonah put in. “And you do a nice job riding her.”
    When Ann sat a little straighter in the saddle, Biscuit picked his feet up and arched his neck. Ann apparently knew how rare Jonah’s outright compliments were, and her pleasure had flowed right down the reins to the buckskin.
    They came to a trail Darby remembered from hertrip with Megan and Ann. It still gave her a shiver when she thought of how these trails were formed. They were carved naturally from flowing lava on its way downhill. If one of the volcanoes should erupt while they were on this path, they were in big trouble.
    Volcanic signs were everywhere. There was a kipuka , an island of fertile life surrounded by black lava rock. And this kipuka had a strange fernlike plant she’d never seen before. Huge and curled in on itself, kind of like a fuzzy green cinnamon roll, it reminded Darby of illustrated books she’d read that showed dinosaurs prowling among prehistoric plants.
    Jonah stopped to look at it, too. “That’s moa . The only other place you’ll see that is on a fossil, yeah?” he told them. “Tutu uses it to make a medicinal tea for a condition babies get called thrush.”
    Farther on, Jonah pointed out tall, spindly koa trees. Dark, sickle-shaped pea pods dangled from their highest branches.
    â€œTake a good look,” Jonah said, pointing. “And not just because darkness is coming. Those koas grow only in Hawaii. We’ve always used them for war canoes and surfboards, but