Angela Ant's Arc

Chapter 5 of 10

The new route Summer Sun drew skipped the fence line entirely. It cut straight across the open dirt between the hill and the cottage. No hedge. No stones. No bramble. Nothing for the witch's ears to track and nothing for Angela to hide behind. Angela left the bell in the tunnel. She kept the yellow sash. She stepped onto the open ground at sunrise. The dirt stretched wide and flat in every direction. Her shadow was the only mark on it. She walked fast. Ten strides in, a shadow slid over her. She flattened. A magpie passed low and turned back for a second look. Angela lay still. The bird landed six ant-lengths off and hopped closer. She could see the wet black of its eye. Without the bell, nothing warned it away. Without a leaf, nothing hid her yellow sash. The magpie tilted its head. She ran. The bird lunged. Angela cut sideways and drove her legs into the dirt. Ahead, half-sunk in the field, a rotted log lay open on one side. The bark hung down in strips. A dark slot showed under the timber. She threw herself at it. The beak struck the wood behind her. She was inside. The magpie stabbed at the opening twice more. The slot was too narrow. It gave up and lifted off. Angela stood in the dark, breathing. The log smelled of moss and old rain. She was halfway across the open ground. She could see the cottage step through the far end of the hollow, a bright square of green. She waited until the sky stayed empty for a slow count of a hundred. Then she ran again. This time she reached the grass at the cottage edge without a shadow finding her. Summer Sun was on the step already, watching the field. She knelt and set her palm down. Angela climbed on. "You made it," Summer Sun said. "A magpie almost had me." "Where?" "Middle of the field. There's a log. Hollow. I got inside." Summer Sun looked out at the dirt. Her eyes found the log. She nodded once. "Then that's the halfway," she said. "You run to the log. You rest. You run again." "She can't hear me on that ground." "No. But the birds can see you." Angela sat down on the warm palm. Her legs were shaking again, but not as hard as before. "I can do it," she said. "If the log stays." "It stays." Summer Sun's thumb brushed the edge of the sash. "Every trip. Log first. Then me." Angela looked back at the field. The yellow sash caught the sun. The road between the hill and the cottage had a middle now, and the middle had a roof. She would report from here on. The witch would hear nothing. The sky was the only thing left to beat.