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That’s Not a Bear
Aviva
The wind hasn’t yet swept last autumn’s leaves off the forest floor. Soft, pale green tufts of spring grass poke out in heaps as I crouch behind a large bramble bush, the earthy scent of the early blooms all around us momentarily stealing my senses.
But only briefly. Ten year old Shosannah smells like adrenaline and the pancakes with blueberry syrup she had for breakfast as her soft red hair whips across my cheeks, her body rigid and bright green eyes focused on the sparse trees ahead of us.
Lora, six, fidgets on my otherside. “Aviva,” she hisses, tugging on the sleeve of my tunic. “I have to pee!”
“Shut up, Lora,” Shosh whispers, her arm flexed as she draws back her arrow, which looks massive against the child-sized bow I whittled for her as a Solstice gift.“Breath in,” I whisper against the rim of my little sister’s ear. She does, holding her br
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