Wild is the Witch (27)
“The owl.”
He sets his plate on the tarp and leans back, looking up toward the trees. “Why do you care so much? About the owl, I mean. I know it’s a threatened species, but it seems personal to you.”
My palms begin to sweat, and I remind myself that Pike doesn’t know anything. I set my breakfast aside and rest my elbows on my knees, trying to look as casual as possible.
“I guess it’s a few things. It is threatened, like you said, and there aren’t many left in Washington. And losing one that we could have otherwise saved breaks my heart to think about. But it isn’t just that.” I pause, deciding a half-truth is the best answer to give. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but ever since he got out of his enclosure, he’s been watching me. He follows me around the refuge and seems to always know where I am. And I guess I just feel like after a week of him coming after me, watching to see that I’m safe, I owe it to him to do the same.”
I shrug and tilt my head back, letting the wind wash over me. I don’t tell Pike that the owl felt like an omen, that every time I saw him watching me, a thick dread would coat my stomach. The truth is that the owl makes me uneasy, a feeling I rarely have with animals, but answering Pike’s question in a way he’ll understand is crucial.
“That doesn’t sound ridiculous.” He’s quiet for several moments, and I start to think he won’t say anything else. Then he looks at me again, and his eyes are oddly serious. “I have another list,” he finally says.
That’s not what I was expecting, and I wonder if he misheard me. “What?”
“Besides the one with all the reasons I dislike you.”
“Ah,” I say, unsure of where he’s going with this.
“It’s a list of things I like about you. And your devotion to animals is on it.”
I stare at him, stunned by the words. Pike is never serious, which is one of things I dislike about him, but right now, there’s no joking in his tone. There’s no sarcasm or punchline. We watch each other, and I realize he means it. And not only does he mean it, but he managed to pick out one of the things I like most about myself.
I flinch and look away.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, not meeting his eyes.
“Yeah, well, don’t get all weird on me. It’s a short list.” He stands and stretches, reaching his arms toward the sky. His pajama shirt climbs up his body with the motion, revealing a strip of pale skin with a trail of hair leading south.
South.
Heat rises up my neck, and I quickly look away, hoping with everything that Pike doesn’t notice. I don’t like him—I shouldn’t care if he has a nice list about me or if I’m senselessly intrigued by a trail of hair.
I stand and look everywhere except at him, distracting myself with the trees and the sky, and I’m relieved when he speaks again.
“Let’s go get your owl,” he says.
The words are so perfect, so lovely, they almost make me forget what I just saw.
Almost.
Eleven
I grab my hydration pack and slide a KIND bar into my pocket, then meet Pike out by the firepit. He has unfortunately decided against pursuing the owl in his pajamas and is now in muted green hiking pants and a white T-shirt. It’s a clear morning, the clouds from last night moving out to reveal a crystal-blue sky, and the air is cool with the perfect amount of bite. The trees are still, the only sounds are those of nature, and I think if I were the owl, I would have come here, too.
Sunlight reaches through branches and dots the forest floor in patches of gold, and I silently talk to the owl, asking him to stay where he is.
We’re almost there, I tell him. Just stay.
“All set?” Pike asks, and I nod. He grabs the carrier with food for the owl, then pulls out a compass from his pocket and begins walking.
“I’ll lead,” I say, quickly moving in front of him.
“I have the compass.” He picks up his pace to catch up with me, matching my strides so I can’t get ahead.
“I have the coordinates.”
He exhales loudly and looks at me for a few seconds, then shakes his head and gestures for me to go first. “It’s never easy with you.”
I want to tell him that it’s much easier with me, since I feel where the bird is. We won’t have to stop and look at maps or compasses or tracking devices. But instead, I say nothing and move ahead of him.
“I studied the map extensively against the coordinates,” I tell him. “I know exactly where he is.”
“Whatever you say.”
We leave the campsite behind and begin our trek through the forest. There’s no trail or path this far in, and we go slowly as we step over fallen trees and exposed roots, around ferns and moss-covered boulders. The ground is damp with the recent rain, and the woods smell earthy and clean.
After a few minutes, the gradient gets steeper, and soon we’re walking at a noticeable incline. Pike breathes behind me, even and deep, and the sound is comforting in a way. Maybe it makes me feel like I’m not in this alone, like I have another person to weather it with.
But that’s not true, and hoping for it is foolish. If my dad taught me anything, it’s that a person who doesn’t have magic will never choose to weather the storms with a person who does. It will always become too much for them, sooner or later.