Fossils of the Missing Ones – VIII: Bat Wing Mountain
Sullivan and I packed our supplies and set out.
We had been informed that
Bat Wing Mountain,
though initially named for its odd shape,
is home to millions of bats.
It was further than we’d thought,
and arrived at noon.
We had a quick snack
at the foot of the mountain,
the shade and cold water very welcome.
the contrast between desert
and this lush valley.”
Sullivan looked up
and tilted her head slightly,
her nose puckered up,
curiosity tracing deep lines
between her penciled-in eyebrows:
“No sign of your wolf,”
and then, changing the subject,
“I’m glad we came here,
even if we don’t find what you are looking for.”
“You don’t believe me” (question or statement?)
“Can you honestly blame me?
‘The Boy and the Wolf;
sounds like some B-grade movie in a bargain bin.”
At this she giggled,
“I’m pulling your leg;
I thought you’d know me by now.”
What if I was wrong?
I returned her smile,
but had no time to reply,
for I felt a clammy hand on my back.
Again the lump in my throat: “Thank you for coming.”
A kaleidoscope of raw fear and confusion
replaced Sullivan’s cheerful expression;
ashen white and purple pale,
she fell to her knees.