Page 3 of Lost in the Wild

“Okay, next question. What’s it like living wild out here? What supplies do you have? Does it ever get lonely? Do you get scared?”

The man prowls closer, moving quietly through the trees. If I wasn’t watching him, buzzing with excitement that I’ve found him, I wouldn’t notice him at all. It’s like he’s one with the landscape, cloaked in natural camouflage, while I blunder around with my stiff boots and rustly backpack.

Hang on, how long has this guy been watching me? He could’ve been nearby for hours already and I wouldn’t have known. At that realization, a shiver runs down my spine, and the breeze feels extra cold on my cheeks.

The wild man reaches my side, bends down to pluck the map from my open bag, then spreads it on the tree beside me again. Taking my pencil, he draws a new path on the map, linking my previous route with some random spot in the forest.

Wow. I went really wrong.

Good thing Denim Tarzan is here, spinning me around by the shoulders. He points between the trees, then shoves the map and pencil into my hand.

“That way,” he says, his deep voice rusty from lack of use. “Go now, while you’ve still got good light. And keep whistling. Make plenty of noise. You should reach the town in four hours.”

“I knew you could talk,” I tell him, lifting my notebook again. “Please, if you could answer just a few questions—”

“No.”

I blink up at the man. He frowns down at me, and he’s so much closer now than before. Close enough to feel the body heat radiating off his bare, dirt-streaked chest, and to feel my neck twinge at how much taller he is.

“No?” I repeat, nonplussed.

“No.”

“But I came all this way…”

The wild man jerks his head back and forth, his long, matted hair moving over his shoulders. It’s some shade of brown, but it’s hard to tell when he’s caked in a thin layer of dirt. There’s a faint blood stain on his bandage, but it looks old. “I didn’t ask you to do that,” he says. “I don’t owe you shit, alright? Now go.”

“But I—”

“Go. And next time don’t come up the mountain unprepared. Don’t come where you don’t belong.”

Though it’s ridiculous, though I know this jerk is right, his words still sting. Inhaling sharply through my nose, I bend down to stuff everything except the map in my backpack.

Ouch. Who is this guy, and how can he hurt my feelings so easily? Why do I care what some mean, dirty cryptid thinks of me? Because… I do. I do care. My chest aches at the thought of this man thinking I’m stupid, and my lungs burn way worse than they did on the climb.

“You don’t know me,” I say quietly, shouldering my pack. “And you shouldn’t judge what you don’t understand.”

Denim Tarzan sneers. “I know enough.”

“Says the man who forgot how to comb his hair.”

Not my best comeback, but I’m tired and hurt and abruptly so, so done with this mountain and everything on it. It’ll have to do. Pine needles crackle underfoot as I turn on my heel.

“Don’t blunder into any bear dens,” the wild man calls after me, his deep voice drifting through the trees.

I flip him off over my shoulder and hike on, sniffing away frustrated tears.

Two

Rowan

The annoying girl with a hundred questions is a long, long way from home. It’s obvious, from the racket she makes stomping along the forest path, map crinkling and boots thudding, to the vivid colors of her clothes.

Red leggings and a white tank top; a lilac jacket and some kind of crocheted multicolored hair band holding back her auburn waves. This girl is an explosion of color, a bird of paradise lost in the wrong kind of forest, and tracking her back down the mountain is easier than breathing. Even if she stopped muttering to herself, cursing all rude mountain men everywhere, I could follow her easily.

“Blunder into any bear dens,” she mumbles, clambering over a fallen log clumped with toadstools. “Such an ass…”

Despite everything, my mouth curves up as I watch her from the shadows. It’s not so bad being near her when she doesn’t know I’m here. With her butterscotch eyes fixed on the forest floor, this all feels less intense. Bearable, even.

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