Asunder Chapter 28

Chapter 6.3 (28)

The Woman

A New Friend

“I saw her again… the otter. She has been much quieter and isolated since her pups grew up. I hope she is doing okay.” - Journal of Jane Rose - Entry 57

- Present Day -

- The Year 2296 -

Jane was no stranger to the weeds and thicket she stumbled over as she made her way northward along the stream. The terrain she traversed was similar to the valley she grew up in. With the mountain faces flanking her sides, a babbling stream echoing in her ears, and oak trees swaying in the wind, she felt a sense of comfort comparable to her childhood home. Upon waking from the dream with her brother, she took to the wilderness with a heightened sense of determination. She had to find him. She had to make her way north.

After only minutes of walking, she stumbled upon an ancient asphalt pathway cutting across the stream. It was the highway her father spoke of. The road was difficult to immediately discern as it was completely cracked and overgrown with grass and shrub bushes. Quickly trying to avoid attracting any sort of attention to herself, as likely the machines watched the highway closely, she quickly crossed the road and ran beneath the cover of the trees lining the water’s edge. Entering the ravine again, she followed its course as it gently descended northward. The ravine’s walls rose and fell along its pathway as millions of years of flow of this stream had cut through the mountain pass. She felt an odd sense of gratitude toward the stream. It allowed her to avoid the steep hills of the mountain pass and proceed with adequate cover from the unseen eyes in the sky. Now and again, she caught a glimpse of the old highway as it followed the meandering path of the ravine.

After a few hours of travel, the comforting mountains widened and separated further from each other as she traveled northward. This widening opened the valley to a flatter and dryer terrain. The yellow treeless stubble stretched from the tips of her toes and rolled for miles in all directions. The valley sank into a wide bowl and rose miles ahead of her. From this new vantage point, Jane could see the old highway winding through the valley like a snake slithering to its borough, finding its way over the opposing hillside.

The wind constantly rushed through the valley from east to west, refusing to let down. What trees were present appeared to suffer a fate of perpetual motion from the wind. Consequently, nearly all of them had grown at slight angles to the west. The trees lining the stream she had been traveling along became more sparse with each mile, and her concern for cover from the eyes of the machines while journeying became more of a reality with each passing minute. Jane looked beyond the valley and visualized the northern horizon, broke with jagged blue mounds, implying another mountain range beyond. This was, hopefully, the location of her brother, just beyond those mountains.

Jane recalled the recent dream with her brother. A prayer of the dream’s reality echoed in her heart, and she hoped if what her father said was true, her brother would find her as well. Jane only had to do her part—head north. Jane now placed all her trust in her dreams—sealing her fate in the hands of an unseen world. But what if she stopped dreaming? Would she lose all communication with those who guided her? The thought became more of a reality now Jane had lost her only token of comfort—the only thing that seemed to calm her enough to allow her to sleep—her carved elk. Curious enough, upon waking, Jane had somehow lost the carved Elk she always held in her sleep. After searching the sleeping area for an hour but finally weighing the expedience of her journey, she eventually gave up and resigned to her loss.

Jane’s mind shifted to the journey ahead. Pondering the distance of the openness spread out before her, she worried she could not make it through the valley hidden from the machines. The expanse retained no bush taller than her waist, and what trees grew were divided by great distances. It would be too easy for any passing Watcher, Scout, or Seeker to see her. The machines were obviously taking all measures to find her. The area surrounding the mining facility was likely under tight surveillance at the moment. Meaning Jane had to proceed with extreme caution and camouflage.

Jane scanned the valley just west of her. Looking along the valley's rim, she hoped to see some sort of treeline that could help hide her as she continued her travels, but to no avail. The mountain face appeared as barren as the valley. Turning her attention back to the valley and stream leading into it, she settled on continuing her course along the stream as her father had recommended in her dream. It was her only choice.

§

Jane had traveled for over an hour before she had to stop and take a break from her tangential descent down the mountainside. Leaning against a fallen tree, she stared into the distance, hoping she was making good time. Her water reserves had already begun to run low, and her lips cracked from thirst. Gulping the last remnants of water from her filter canteen, she caressed the dent in its corner, suddenly overcome with memories of her husband.

She could see Elijah in her mind’s eye, covered in dust and grime, coughing. His rescuers had just retrieved him from a mine collapse. She thought she had lost him. Once retrieved, she ran into his arms, but while throwing her arms up to hug him, Jane accidentally swung her canteen, knocking it into the head of a nearby machine. The machine’s reaction from being hit caused it to nearly disintegrate her with its heat ray. But, somehow, the blow she made to the machine’s head had misfired its circuits. This malfunction caused a miscalculation about who the attacker was, and it erroneously fired at another machine, vaporizing its counterpart instead. 

The killing of a machine by another machine caused all the other Guards to turn on their companion and open fire, turning the mass of metal into a lump of ashes. In the confusion of the situation, she, her husband, and the other survivors of the collapse crouched to the ground and crawled away unharmed. They had laughed together for hours afterward. Whether the destruction of so many machines from a simple mistake inspired their laughter or whether it was a coping mechanism for the back-to-back near-death experiences, she hadn’t known nor cared. It felt good to laugh. It was an uncommon feature of the residents of the mine.

A distant shriek in the sky suddenly disrupted her thoughts. She looked up, squinting with her palm above her eyes, searching for the source.

Was it the sound of an eagle?

After a second shriek, she located the bird. Gaping in awe at its beauty, a falcon circled directly above her. Its impressive outstretched wings fluttered in the breaking wind. Its underside revealed a sleek and intimidating silhouette, starkly contrasting the blueness beyond it. She had always felt like she had a special connection with these creatures. Indeed, she did have a special connection with all creatures. But the falcon represented freedom beyond freedom. The freest of all living creatures. The Wanderer. She had spent hours watching them in flight when she was little.

Realizing it had been nearly four years since she communicated with an animal, she reached her thoughts out to the flying beauty. She had never tried reaching out to an animal more than twenty feet away, so she assumed the bird, thirty feet high, likely couldn’t hear her communication.

“Hello, friend!” She called out.

The bird continued soaring without response. Shrugging at its non-response, Jane continued to watch it as she reached into her pack and retrieved a cracker. Suddenly, a flurry of scurrying and squeaking erupted at Jane’s feet. Looking down, Jane noticed a mouse scampering backward and running into her boot, unaware of her presence. Confused at the odd behavior and about to move her boot, she realized what the mouse retreated from.

In the brush, some three feet before her, coiled a sand-colored rattlesnake. It was then the sound of its tail kicked within her ears over the wind. The terrible, deadly sound of the skin shaking about in the chrysalis of its tail sent shivers down her spine. Jane froze in place. The snake opened its wide jaws, exposing its thin, razor-sharp teeth, already dripping with deadly venom.

A juvenile rattlesnake, even worse. Jane thought.

Younglings could not control the amount of venom they injected into their victims. The snake suddenly noticed her and began writhing upon itself, lifting its head and rattling its tail even louder than before. The mouse scurried further up her pant leg. The snake, now transitioning from a predatory state into a defensive state, took no notice of the retreating mouse. It continued to wind up upon itself, gearing up for its attack. She didn’t dare make any sudden movements, for indeed, in her exhausted and pregnant state, she would not make it out of the venomous bite alive. She attempted to communicate with the creature but knew it was in vain. For some reason, reptiles, amphibians, and fish could not communicate well. Their thoughts seemed spurious and filled with jargon as if there was no higher order of thinking and reasoning.

She cringed, ready for the attack. Then, as the snake began lunging its deadly head forward, a flash of wind and feathers with incredible speed erupted before her. Still staring at the spot in front of her, there was now no snake, only yellow shrub and dirt. Jane jerked her head to the right, frantically looking about, and in the distance, she now saw the once deadly creature, instead hanging limp from the claws of the beautiful peregrine falcon.

In bewilderment, fear, and exhilaration, she waved her arms excitedly at the falcon and screamed, “Thank you! Thank you!”

Hoping the majestic bird understood her, it glanced back and confirmed her suspicion. Catching her breath, she sat back down in the nest of the fallen tree, shaking her head in disbelief. She replayed the scene in her head and was unsure whether the Falcon had been eyeing the snake for a meal the entire time or whether it was an act of valor on the part of the bird of prey.

In her moment of contemplation, she suddenly felt a rustling along the collar of her jacket. Fearing another dangerous creature, she jumped up from the tree stump, swatting at her back. In between the frantic rustling, she heard faint chirping. Chips and squeals revealed a voice of pleading in her mind. She quickly stopped panicking and turned the aggressive slapping of her jacket into more of a wriggling, uncomfortable dance as the scratchy claws of a mouse scurried up to the nape of her neck and perched firmly on her shoulder. The same mouse who scrambled from the deadly pursuit of the snake moments ago was now nervously babbling nearly imperceivable gratitudes, all while ringing his tail between his tiny paws.

Intrigued by the sudden comfortableness this wild animal now had with its human savior, the woman spoke softly.

“Well, hello there, little one… are you okay?”

The mouse, shy about his new interaction, glanced bashfully away.

“That was quite a scare for me too.”

A quick chirp squealed from his throat.

“You’re welcome. It was a pleasure to help. Not that I can say I did much, as that Falcon saved me… Though I suppose you aren’t too fond of falcons either?”

The mouse sat quietly, not responding. Understanding the culture of wild mice, Jane knew it was an expected reaction to a question he did not feel comfortable answering. Jane had spent hours interacting with the mice around her home, and they usually were the more pleasant creatures to interact with, though quiet at times. With this understanding, Jane felt a sense of consolation and was grateful to have this mouse with her. Even if he was scratchy upon her collar, she felt the need to keep him around—to have a friend. To have someone to share the journey with. Someone to talk to.

“Can I tell you something?” Jane continued. The mouse’s ears perked up, intrigued by her question.

“You see, I’m traveling north to find my brother, and I’ve got a baby in this belly of mine, so I gotta stay safe. Would you stay with me and keep me company? Maybe even be an extra set of eyes for me? I need help looking out for those big metal monsters walking around the valley.”

The mouse chipped and chirped again in response.

“What do you get out of it?” Jane laughed to herself at the response.

“Well, I just saved your life, didn’t I?” She jeered.

The mouse chirped again.

“Hmmm, okay… you're right, that WAS the Falcon who technically saved both of our lives.”

She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small handful of berries she found along the stream. Popping a few in her mouth, she took one and handed it to the mouse.

“Will this do? I give you berries, and you help me stay safe?”

The mouse reluctantly received it and looked at her with little black eyes. After a moment, it chirped, agreeing to the deal, and then scampered into her collar, finding a quiet place to feast. She turned her attention back to the valley before her.

“Well, I’ll be. I’ve already got a friend.” She whispered to herself.

Adrenaline still flowed through her veins from the event with the snake, and she was now slightly more aware of her surroundings and the vastness spread out before her. The screech of the falcon reverberated through the valley. Maybe the falcon would be her friend as well?

She popped another berry in her mouth and contemplated the continuation of her journey. If she was careful and quick, she could traverse the expanse before her and make it over the hillside into the next valley by nightfall. Understanding the stakes of a wide open area, she quickly descended the hillside, hugging the stream closely, ready to jump in at first sight of a Watcher or its Takers.

The mouse peaked its head out from her collar and squealed.

“No, I don’t have any more berries. I’m sure we’ll find some more along the way. Don’t you worry. You ever been out this far from your home?” She asked the creature.

The mouse squeaked again.

“Yeah, I figured as much. Do you have any family?”

The mouse stayed quiet for a moment and then remorsefully chirped his answer.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she responded. The same snake who nearly killed Jane had also attacked the mouse’s burrow. He was running away from the snake when he ran into Jane.

“Well, I appreciate your being here. My family was taken from me, too.”

The mouse chirped a solemn tone and disappeared again into her collar. She understood how he felt. He needed time.

As she reached the bottom of the hillside, where it met the valley's floor, she crouched below a giant sage brush bush to catch her breath and stay safely hidden. Even then, she feared she had overexposed herself during the descent. She sat behind the bush, waiting for any signs of being discovered. Though no machines were in sight for miles surrounding her, she did not put anything past the tracking skills of the machines. She girded her protruding abdomen, tightened her satchel, and rapidly embarked along the stream bed in a steady crouching position, moving to the next large bush lining the stream.

Nearly two-thirds of the way to her destination, a distant rumbling stopped her. A faint sound of an all-too-familiar siren ignited in the distance. Whether it was an indicator of her discovery or something else, she needed to get to the stream bed soon and get full cover. Picking up her pace, she attempted to crouch and run simultaneously, praying she would blend in with the surrounding sagebrush. The sirens grew louder, indicating the Watcher’s approach into the valley. Quickly glancing around, there was no visual sign of the Takers. As she approached a larger bush, the earth suddenly violently shook, throwing her to the ground. Hugging the dirt, she lay silent, trying to keep her mind from returning to those distant memories.

The ground raged and rumbled beneath her. Steadying herself, she slowly sat up and peered through the brush—still no visual signs of the Watcher. Only feet from the stream bed, she got to her hands and knees and crept along the rough and barren dirt. Upon reaching the water's edge, she noted the stream to be some twelve feet wide and only a couple of feet deep.

Quickly slipping her backpack off, she floated it onto the water. Then, following her backpack, she plunged herself into the depths. The water felt lukewarm on the surface, but it immediately turned colder the further down she slipped. The bottom of the bed was squishy with mushy and thick mud. Kneeling down for complete cover, she realized the stream was deeper than she had imagined. The water reached her chin the further she submerged. Quickly reaching down, she scooped mud into her palm and promptly smeared the sticky dirt through her hair and face. Her father had taught her as a child that if she was ever to hide from the machines, she needed to make her body colder by concealing herself in the dirt or mud. The machines sensed humans through heat signatures. Even though heated from the long summer months, the water was much colder than her body temperature and chilled her to her bones. The mud stung ice-cold and caused her to inhale sharp breaths as she rubbed it into her cheeks.

She quickly reached for the bush to steady herself and snatched her backpack from the current before the river carried it downstream. Realizing she needed more cover, she uprooted the bush she held onto and lifted it over her head. Dirt fell into her mouth from the roots, causing her to cough and spit. She trembled with a combination of adrenaline coursing through her veins and the cool temperature of the stream.

The rumbling continued, and the sirens grew louder. It felt as though Jane’s eardrums would explode under the weight of the sound. Submerging her head underwater had not helped either, as the sound somehow was more audible in the depths. Even with the amplification of the sound, she could not risk being seen by the Watcher, and so, taking a deep breath, she submerged her head below, pulling the bush over top of her. She pressed her palms against her ears as hard as possible to prevent the sound from entering her head. It seemed never to end.

After a minute, her lungs began to tremble, attempting to cling to the air it so desperately needed. Her back arched, her chest expanded, and she made every effort to supply what oxygen remained in her lungs to their capillaries. Her vision began to darken. She could feel the feet in her womb kicking frantically. How much longer would the Watcher be in the valley? She had to take a breath.

Then, suddenly, the siren stopped. The rumbling stopped. Peering upward through the water and branches of the bush she used for cover, she could see a tremendous shadowy cloud with red glowing stars floating overhead. Though Jane worried the machine could see her, she could no longer wait. Her lungs screamed for air. Slowly raising her lips to the surface, she drew a sharp, warm breath, soothing her aching lungs. Jane’s ears continued to ring as she stared wide-eyed through the branches of the bush at the enormous mountain-high machine standing over her. Easing her floating backpack closer under the bush to hide it, she moved slowly to avoid drawing attention to herself. She found herself whispering prayers. The very same prayers her father had taught her as a child.

Why had the machine stopped?

Had it found her?

Was this it?

Was this how it ended?

She took slow, deep breaths. The massive machine hovered as if suspended in the air. It was so enormous she could not see its periphery, which contained its spider-like legs. A gigantic red light glowed like a haunting red moon—the volcanic harvest generator. The deadly magnetic gravitational ray cycled the earth's crust into a flowing magma beam, destroying cities, homes, people, and whatever came in its path. It was centered on the beast's underbelly and stared at her ominously. Her father explained how humans initially created the technology, but then the machines terribly perfected it.

Dread flowed through her as if acid had replaced her blood. She hated the mechanical mass above her. She hated everything it stood for. Everything it ever did to her. Everything it did to humanity. The hatred grew and billowed into a rage—a righteous indignation. In this very moment of emotional transition, a switch flipped in her mind. She was no longer scared and instead felt a welling inside her chest. She felt resilient. Suddenly, boldness replaced her fear. She had spent her whole life fearing the machines. It had not mattered whether she died there today. She had lived in fear long enough.

And suddenly, as if it could sense her lack of fear, the rumbling emerged again as the machine began to move. This time, there were no sirens. Her view transitioned to a blue sky as it retreated from her vision in the opposite direction it had arrived from. Bewildered, she raised her head out of the water and looked about.

Was it not there to kill her? She thought. To finish what it had come for? She was ready! Was it not?

Then, as suddenly as it arrived, the machine disappeared over the western mountains, and a quiet wind fell over the valley.

Why did the machine come to her exact location and do nothing?

The emotional roller coaster she had been experiencing since her escape had taken a toll on her. But for what it was worth, this last experience instilled in her a new sense of empowerment. She would survive. Her child would survive… no matter the cost.

§

After prolonged astonishment and contemplation, she realized the water had washed the mud clean from her face. A breeze calmly blew across her cheeks, cooling them. The tall grass gently swayed along the water’s edge in a comforting rhythm. The child in her womb slowed its kicking and rolled about, finding a more comfortable position. She stared up into a vast blue cloudless sky. The sound of her breathing calmed her nerves increasingly with each breath. She waded to the side of the stream. The feel of the dry, prickly grass against her palms brought comfort to her pruned hands, as though she could imbue the fluid from her skin and revitalize the barren plants.

Suddenly, a squeal emitted from nearby.

With this, Jane remembered her newfound friend hitchhiking with her. Spinning about, she viewed him sitting atop her floating backpack. Worried she had hurt him somehow by jumping in the water, she reached out and pulled the bag closer. Though a little wet, the mouse appeared fine. He sat forlorn, licking his fur and ringing out his tail.

“Hello friend, I’m sorry I got you a little wet there. Are you doing all right?” she whispered almost imperceptibly.

A short clicking from the mouse soberly confirmed her question.

“Oh good, I really am sorry… that was a little scary there?” She downplayed the seriousness of the encounter with the machine.

The mouse squealed, almost rolling his eyes.

“Oh really? You’ve seen one of those before?” She responded.

Another chirp.

“Quite a bit? How often do they come around?”

The mouse squeaked and squealed for nearly an entire minute.

“Interesting. So, there is no pattern to it? Have you seen others like me before? Humans?”

Squeak and chirp.

“Well, I guess not exactly like me. I’m the only human besides my dad I know who can speak to mice. I meant just normal humans.”

Another chirp.

“Only two others?”

The mouse lowered his head and chirped.

“Oh, I see. The machines found them.” She nodded. “So I take it it's pretty easy to get caught out here?”

The mouse chirped and was nearly dry now.

“Well, I suppose we better stick to this stream. I hope it gives us enough cover and leads us out of this valley before nightfall.”

Solidifying the new plan of staying in the stream to avoid being spotted, she slowly started to wade through the water, keeping one hand along the shore's edge, the other on the floating backpack, and kneel-walking the rest. Still shaken by the previous event, her limbs felt weak, and she was grateful for the weightless reprieve the water created.

As she made her way northward in the water, she found some areas so shallow she nearly crawled across the stream floor. Wading in the water buoyed much of the weight from her body, especially along her midriff, and she soon found herself in a steady rhythm and pace

After two hours, she began to weary, and slumber stretched forth its sweet caress. Her palms and feet pruned beyond all pruning, and they began to feel raw. Though it was challenging to find discomfort, the absence of sirens sang a melody of safety into her senses. The smells of the cold dirt and shrub grass mixed with the sweet aroma of sagebrush, intertwined with the weightlessness of the swimming, brought forth precious memories into her mind.

She was in the river back in her home valley. The water was colder there. Her brothers were jumping off some nearby rocks, laughing and screaming. She had spent the afternoon searching the edge of the riverbed for slow-flowing pools—the perfect home for tadpoles. Loving to wade in the water, she explored the river bed for life. She could spend every day swimming in the river. The echo of her mother’s voice on the other side of the trees, yelling for her and her siblings to come for dinner, brought solace to her childish heart.

She continued searching the water’s edge one last minute before deciding to head in. And that’s when she saw her. Slowly following a babbling current in a pool on the water’s edge, she suddenly found herself face-to-face with an otter. The otter stood on the bank and stared deeply into her eyes. An inquisitive head tilt reassured her that this animal was likely harmless and more curious than anything. Oddly enough, there was no voice in her head. She was nine years old and had grown entirely accustomed to the voices in her head. The otter continued to read her quietly. She could begin to sense fear from the creature standing before her. 

The animal glistened, revealing its glimmering fur coat. Her wet nose contracted and expanded, taking in the smell of this human before her. Suddenly, a muffled squeal followed by a second squeal revealed two small otters poking their heads out from underneath their mother's bosom. The mother otter quickly looked down at her younglings and then back up at the girl. Jane now could decipher grumbling as the otter became annoyed with her pups but defensive toward Jane.

“Hello, friends.” Jane chimed with a gentle and soothing voice.

The otter reared its head back, apparently surprised by its understanding of her. This reaction had become the expected response from animals she had met for the first time. The otter clicked and chattered at her younglings, who quickly scrambled back beneath her.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. How old are they?” She tried to say in hopes the otter would understand she was harmless.

The otter stared at her inquisitively. Then, showing her razor-sharp teeth, she meowed a gurgling purr.

“Really? They look so big for only being one-month-olds.” Her response had sent the otter rearing in her mind, trying to figure out how this human could speak with her and understand her.

The otter retorted back another meow. This time, it was longer and drawn out, with a gurgling and chirping between breaks.

“I’m not quite sure, honestly.” She replied. “I’ve just sort of been able always to do this.” 

The otter looked at her, still baffled.

“I know it can be unsettling. But I promise you I mean no harm.”

Another gurgle and moan. The otter motioned its head toward her screaming brothers, who had not noticed the interaction taking place. And even if they had, they were so used to Jane talking to animals that they would likely just roll their eyes and keep diving.

“Oh, don’t worry, they would never hurt you either.”

Another meow and purr, this time with more indignation.

“Oh, those? Those metal fire sticks? That’s how we hunt. Deer and elk, usually. You see, we're kind of like you. We need food to survive. You eat fish, we eat deer. I guess we eat fish, too. You are lucky to be such a great fisher. If I could fish half as good as you, I suppose we would never need deer meat.”

This had miraculously flattered the otter, and her body became less stiff and more relaxed. Apparently, complimenting an otter was all it took to ease the situation. She quickly changed the subject from guns and hunting to a lighter topic.

“How long have you been in this valley for?”

The question was interrupted by a loud squeal from one of the pups beneath its mother. The mother otter chirped and meowed at the young pup. And the pup scooted tighter to its mother’s coat.

“He’s hurt? Where?”

The mother otter looked at her suspiciously. The pup eased out from beneath his mom, limping on one paw, but as he did so, his mother scolded him. He quickly snuck in a few words.

“Something sharp got stuck in it?”

He lifted and motioned toward his right paw. 

“Is it okay if I take a look?” she asked the mother genuinely.

The pup scooted closer to Jane, and she could see the mother’s body tense up. Having a strange human so close to her new pup likely frightened her, but she appeared to resolve her worries and focus them on the pup’s injury.

“I promise I won’t hurt him, but maybe I can help if you just let me take a look.”

The pup scooted closer, and the mother did not intervene. She waded out of the water onto her knees, then standing in the cool shade of the nearby woods, she moved closer to the rocks where the family was sitting. Crouching down and gently raising the pup's paw, Jane examined the fleshy pads. In one of the webs between his first two phalanges was a rusted metal fishing hook. It was lodged relatively deep in the skin and showed signs of infection. The hair around the injury appeared mottled and had started falling off, with the underlying skin diffusely red and hot.

“Oh goodness, poor thing. It looks infected.”

The mother otter relaxed slightly and chirped.

“Infected means there are some bad bugs in there. It needs to come out, but he needs to be treated with medicine for that to happen.”

The pup whimpered, and the mother otter meowed and clicked.

“Oh, yeah, humans eat medicine to make us better when sick. Suppose he doesn’t get any medicine. It's likely to get worse and spread. Infections can get into the whole body. And you don't want that to happen.”

She tried to keep the explanation basic and light so as not to scare the pup but severe enough that the mother otter could understand. The mother otter purred and chirped a question.

“Yeah, exactly. Similar to the grass you eat when your stomach aches.”

The mother otter nodded understandingly. Jane returned a glance at the pup's paw, examining it again. 

“If you let me get the hook out, I can bandage it and run back to my home and get you some medicine?”

She knew her father had a supply of antibiotics in the storage shed, as they were only to be used in an emergency, but in her mind, this was an emergency. Her dad would understand. He always did. She quickly jumped out of the riverbed, grabbed her towel, and returned to the cabin. After much searching and referencing the antibiotic indication sheet her dad had posted above the medicine shelf, she concluded that koriofloxacin would be the best choice since she only had to give it once daily for ten days. She grabbed a single dose and quickly ran back to the river bed. Luckily, the otter and her pups were reluctantly waiting. The mother paced back and forth along the water's edge, worrying if Jane would return.

Jane had grabbed a piece of jerky from the food storage and wrapped the medication in it. She hoped the pup would like jerky enough to cover the antibiotic's bitter taste. Again reiterating the importance of antibiotics, she told the mother it was of the utmost importance for the pup to take the antibiotic every day for ten days. The mother was apprehensive but let her guard down when the pup began crying from the pain. The mother relented and allowed Jane to give the pup the medication. Jane took the jerky-wrapped medication, and in the open palm of her hand, she eased the food in front of the whimpering pup's nose.

The pup, upon smelling the rich, smoky aroma of the jerky, silenced his cries and immediately changed his countenance. With perked-up ears and a rabid sniffing nose, the pup quickly devoured the pill encapsulated in jerky from young Jane’s palm. He licked her hand with his rough tongue, searching for every last remnant of seasoning. Once gone, he licked his lips, looked at her with big, mournful eyes, and proceeded to beg for more. This response seemed to ease the mother otter’s fears as she took to licking her other pup's face clean, barely paying attention to the injured but now spoiled pup. Jane reassured the mother otter that she would return every morning with a small piece of jerky and the medication for the week.

While in the shed, she had grabbed a pair of wire cutters and carefully eased the pup into her lap while sitting cross-legged along the riverbank. The mother's claws retracted and protruded aggressively as she paced back and forth while the pup lay helplessly in the girl’s lap. Jane assured the mother that wire cutters were the only way to remove the fishhook without causing further damage. Jane let the mother examine the wire cutters for a few minutes before finally getting the approval to proceed with the procedure.

She heard her mother call for her again from the cabin. The boys had already made their way back.

“Coming!” She yelled over the hedge of trees.

She gently scooped the pup's paw into her left hand, spreading the delicate silk-like pads of his fingers to expose the wound. Gently splaying the wire cutter tips against the barbed end of the hook, she clipped. With the barbed end removed, she slowly and carefully pulled the remaining hook through the skin, releasing the metal object from the pup's paw. A gush of purulent fluid immediately followed the retrieval. A sense of relief shuddered over the pup with the release of the pus as it was kept under pressure by the hook. The mother otter also appeared to be eased and eventually refrained from the contracture of her claws.

The pup pulled its paw away and began licking vigorously at the site where the hook had been. Jane educated the mother on needing the pup to take it easy for the next few days and refrain from getting the paw dirty. Unexpectedly, a sudden purring sound emitted from the mother's chest, and the mother buried her head into Jane’s arm, rubbing vigorously. Jane smiled and took it as a sign of affection and gratitude. She leaned in and scratched behind the mother’s ear.

“He’ll be just fine… he has a good mama.”

The mother otter stood on her hind legs and nodded her head. Then, retorting a few more chirps, she turned her back and shuffled to the tree line with her pups tailing close behind. The injured pup, favoring his now healing paw, stopped momentarily, turned back, and squealed a response of gratitude, then quickly scampered to catch up with his family.

Jane was grateful for the experience, which led to many more interactions with the otter. She watched the pups grow into adult otters and eventually migrate away, finding their own families. Their mother remained in the valley. After which, Jane would see her fishing in the river, moving more slowly as she aged—stumbling over rocks more frequently. Her once beautiful brown coat grew more gray by the day. She was the very same otter who helped watch after her mother’s body the day of her escape. A debt repaid for the salving of her pup’s paw.

Jane shifted back to reality. The weightlessness of the water had helped soothe her sore leg and abdominal muscles, but in its place, a shiver took over, which became difficult to shake away. She needed to exit the water and start drying before nightfall. The deep red of the horizon cast an orange glow reflecting off the water's surface. Jane had traveled for hours, but as she had been lost in memories, she nearly lost her sense of location. As she looked around to get her bearings, the evidence of a tree line ahead reassured her. She had arrived at the other end of the Valley.

She waded over to the edge of the stream and slowly climbed out. The water had pruned her hands and now chilled her to the bone. She felt her daughter kick within, indicating she disliked the cold. The mouse scurried from her backpack up the nape of her neck again.

“Hey there, friend, I nearly forgot about you,” she spoke wearily to the rodent.

As she crawled out of the water on her hands and knees, the last rays of light illuminated her face and cast a long shadow of her frame across the dirt.

Then, without warning or reason, her shadow suddenly became eclipsed by a looming, tall shadow. Twigs snapped as something approached and stood directly above her.