Leah's Hero - Miranda Martin Page 0,39

harder as I have such limited use of my one arm.

As I work, I find fallen branches beneath some of the leaves which I keep in a separate pile protected by more leaves. Once I’ve finished the three side walls, I dig a pit at the edge of the roof.

I have no tools to work with, so I do use a strong stick, nothing deep but enough to contain the fire I intend to build. Satisfied with my pit, I pile the wood in, arranging it so the air can flow through it.

I lean close to the small pieces and belch fire. Nothing but some tendrils of smoke. I try again and this time some of the pieces of wood have the decency to smolder before puffing out and trailing smoke into the breeze.

Four more times and at last, the tinder is dried enough to catch fire. The small flames crackle as they lick hungrily at the bigger pieces. The wood is damp, making it sizzle as the flames work to dry it enough to devour.

Leah sits up, knees close to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She’s shivering and pale. Worry gnaws at my guts. When she looks up, her eyes glisten brightly. She seems so abjectly sad, and it tears at me. Pain stabs into my hearts. I want to take her pain away.

She scoots closer to the fire, and thus to me as well. I sit down and she leans against my side. I place an arm around her shoulders, and she doesn’t pull away. I close my eyes and bask in this moment.

It may make me a terrible male, but I’m so happy to be this close to her, I have to allow myself a moment of enjoying it. Only a moment though.

I shift to see her better by leaning forward. A bump with a small cut in the middle is swelling on her forehead. The edges of the bump are a dark purple. She has other visible cuts and bruises too. I need to clean her wounds to make sure she doesn’t get an infection.

“Wait,” I say, rising to my feet.

“No!” she says, rising.

I put a hand on her shoulder and hold up my hand in front of her, open palmed, motioning down.

“Wait, please,” I say. “I need to get clean water, cleanse your wounds.”

She sits back down, but a deep frown is on her face. I’m sure she didn’t understand all my words, but I hope she gets enough of them. I step back out into the rain. I’m instantly aware of my own pains.

The cold magnifies them after even such a short time by the warmth of the fire. I take a deep breath, then push my problems aside. Now is the time to take care of her. I pick my way through the jungle looking for a particular flower. It has a deep bell shape that will work for holding clean water. She can use it to drink and I can clean her wounds with it.

They normally open up during the storms, storing water for the dry seasons. I have to go quite a ways before I find a growth of them. It’s taking too long. Longer than I want to leave her alone. The majority of predators won’t be a threat, but there are some that the rains will not stop. The less time she is alone the better.

I harvest three of the hardy flowers then retrace my steps as fast as I can. The jungle is thick, and the rain makes every step treacherous. I’m constantly off balance without my wing but I’ve learned to cope with my disability in normal conditions. This is far from normal conditions. The ground is either mud or covered with the large, thick leaves from the canopy of the trees. With every step, I either sink to at least my ankle, or when I place my weight my foot slides, and I struggle to remain upright.

As I make my way back to her the wind picks up, whistling between the trees as it builds intensity. I must reach her and the shelter before it lets loose. The way it sounds, I’m sure we’re about to have heavy, gale-force wind. I’m not sure the makeshift shelter will survive. It’s also possible one of the many predators of the jungle might be driven from its shelter.

I move faster, but then my foot slides out from under me. I’m falling backwards but use my tail to