Hunting the Fairy Tale

Chapter 42 - Love Sucks

Willow

Reluctant to relinquish its position of power, Summer decided to make one last turn before handing us over to Autumn. The weather is pleasantly warm, with no sign yet of the rain and cold predictions that shut down the friendly swim competition the pupils of Briar High had been looking forward to.

Near the end of the school day, Principal Townsend announced over the intercoms that after some deliberation, it was decided to move the event to the very last day of this term, weather permitting, rather than cancelling it altogether. Based on all indications, it was a highly welcome announcement.

Molly explained to me that coming to school on the day before the holidays officially starts is not compulsory. Many students already leave for holiday destinations when they're done writing their last papers. Most of those not lucky enough to leave Briar Cove usually show up at school and have one last day of unofficial fun and games.

The park is filled with people taking advantage of the fine weather, and I'm having a royal time preventing Little-Piddle from becoming too intimately acquainted with dogs three times his size. Hunter said that he's a timid little thing; I'm not so sure anymore.

Today, I'm going to walk up to one of the lookout spots Hunter told me about. I know that it is going to be quite a walk, rather steep in places, but I've been eating too much lately. I'm becoming bloated and sluggish; I desperately need the exercise. Leaving the park to follow the wide paved path cutting through thick wild vegetation, I'm soon enthralled by the beauty of the mysterious natural areas walling me in from both sides.

A variety of trees with twisted limbs reach towards the heavens, while others have died and fallen over, generously giving themselves back to the earth they've sprouted from and thrived upon. On my left, I can see glimpses of the lagoon where there are sporadic breaks in the growth. The scene is both desolate and beautiful. I can only imagine the kind of horror stories that could be set against this wonderfully eerie backdrop. The spookiness of the place is somewhat spoiled by the many joggers and cyclists I encounter.

Enjoying the fresh air and the thrilling scenery, reminiscing about my very first week in Briar Cove, I'm only vaguely aware of the slack in Little-Piddle's leash. Absently thinking that the lock must've slipped again, I flick the switch to reel it in a bit. The cord zooms unresistingly back into the handle, and suddenly, I have the dog's collar in my hand. The jarring impact of the soft leather strap on my fingers jolts me back to awareness. 

At first, I'm too surprised to comprehend the implications; then panic grasps my heart in its cold claws as I realise that I've lost my dog!

"Piddles!" I shout, desperately looking around me. How long ago has he slipped out of his collar? How did I not notice?

I sag with relief when I glimpse him entering the thick growth on the right side of the path, not far from where I'm turning in circles. "Piddles! Come here!" I shout, but after a quick glance my way, he disappears from sight.

He is becoming more and more cheeky.

I follow him, my uncertainty growing with each step I'm taking further away from the path. I'm not afraid of getting lost. If I walk straight long enough, I'm bound to connect with a walkway or a neighbourhood. What I'm afraid of is the very real possibility of snakes. Will they be hibernating yet? I'm sure they don't follow some set schedule on a calendar.

I know nothing about snakes and about how they decide when it's time to go to sleep. Today is warm; they might be out enjoying the last of the heat, just waiting for careless girls to lose their dogs and wander into their territory.

Heeding Hunter's advice, I pick up a large stick and use it to tap on the ground in front of me. I don't like the noise I'm making crashing through the wilderness like this, it makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. I switch to stealth mode instead, defensively clutching the stick to my chest, knowing that it makes no sense to do so.