Adventure #4: The Hill That Lied

The Hill That Lied

Mabel and her search partner had a disagreement before they even reached the trail.

It was about distance.

More specifically, it was about what counted as too far.

“We’ve gone far enough,” said her search partner.

“We have not,” said Mabel.

Her search partner gave her a long look. It was the kind of look that said, You are one poor decision away from becoming a very long conversation with a park ranger.

But Mabel felt certain she was onto something.

So they kept going.

At last they reached a steep spot on the hillside, and Mabel stopped so suddenly she almost tripped over her own boots.

“There!” she said, pointing. “It has to be there.”

Before her search partner could answer, Mabel scrambled up the slope like a determined mountain goat with absolutely no mountain-goat training.

She climbed around rocks.

She ducked under branches.

She peered into every likely nook and cranny.

She slipped once, recovered dramatically, and kept going as if this were all part of the plan.

Finally, after a great deal of climbing, searching, and hopeful squinting, she came to the deeply annoying conclusion she had now reached several times before:

She was wrong.

Again.

Mabel climbed back down.

Her search partner sat on a log with the expression of someone who had used up all available hiking energy.

Mabel, unfortunately, still had ideas.

She pointed at the next rise ahead.

“It must be over that next hill,” she said.

Her search partner stared at her.

That sentence did not inspire confidence.

In fact, it sounded exactly like the sort of sentence that led to blisters, confusion, and regrettable maps.

“I’ll just take a quick look,” said Mabel.

Those were also not especially comforting words.

Before her search partner could protest, Mabel wandered off a little way, following what she was certain was a very promising direction.

The woods grew quiet.

Leaves rustled overhead.

A bird called from somewhere high in the trees.

Then, all at once, the quiet shattered.

“MABEL!” her search partner shouted.

Then louder:

“WOLF! WOLF! WOLF!”

Mabel did not stop to think.

She turned and ran back down the trail as fast as she could, branches bobbing, boots thumping, heart hammering like a drum.

She sprinted as if every bad decision she had ever made in the woods had suddenly joined forces.

When she reached her search partner, she skidded to a stop.

“What? Where?” she gasped.

Her search partner pointed toward the trees, wide-eyed.

For one long second, both of them stared.

The bushes rustled.

Something moved.

Mabel held her breath.

And then...

Out popped a familiar face.

Round ears.

Bright eyes.

Damp fur.

The soggy raccoon.

He stood there half-hidden in the brush, looking so smug and pleased with himself that Mabel almost forgot to be startled.

Her search partner blinked.

Mabel blinked.

The raccoon blinked back as if to say, What? This is my forest too.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Mabel put her hands on her hips.

“You,” she said, “have the worst timing of any raccoon in history.”

The raccoon twitched his whiskers.

Her search partner, still catching their breath, sat down again on the nearest rock.

Mabel looked from the hillside she had climbed, to the trail she had wandered, to the raccoon who kept appearing exactly when things were already strange enough.

At this point, she had to admit three things:

The hill had lied.

Her sense of direction needed work.

And the soggy raccoon was somehow becoming part of every single adventure.

The raccoon sniffed the air, turned around, and disappeared into the brush with the confidence of a creature who had never once doubted himself.

Mabel watched him go.

Then she sighed and sat down beside her search partner.

“Next time,” she said, “if I say ‘it must be over the next hill,’ you have permission to ignore me.”

Her search partner laughed.

“Deal,” they said.

Mabel laughed too.

Because even when the trail was confusing, the hills were dishonest, and the raccoon seemed determined to supervise the entire hunt, she still wasn’t ready to give up.

Not even close.

To be continued…