“unpredictable” I
heard Liru say.
The breeze was cold. A cat’s
meow rang in the backdrop of trees,
from where exactly I couldn’t
tell.

“So much so”—he let out a low
dark chuckle—
"that you kind of
know.”
He threw the rope aside—

“Wonder what Jay’s excuse
will be now, he’d better bring food
along. I’m starving.”


Liru leaped down from the branch; leaves
fell behind
him.
I was
holding onto the rope’s end,
my back against the tree.
Ants carrying specks of white
climbed the rugged roots.

“I don’t think it’ll work. Not like
we want it to anyway.”
The tree looked silly with our boards and
ropes—it would never look
like we wanted it to.

Liru moved the wooden
plank to a side. Not ready to admit it to me or
himself that it’d be no good, he
moved the block around some more.

Another meow—now louder—flowed in
with the wind.
Jay appeared from
the bush, holding a small, fuzzy wool of a
cat.

“There you are, finally. It's late, Jay”—Liru whined. “I thought
you’d chickened out—”

“’Course not,” Jay fondled the cat.
----
“Why’d you bring that?” I pointed at the cat.

“Not sure,” Jay shrugged. He passed his
hand over its fur again. “It’s getting
kinda cold out.
Sort of figured it would do
no harm.”

The chunk of wood fell
—making
a clamor—
bringing the rope and leaves
with its fall.


Birds flew in every direction, outwards,
away from
the trees.




"Told you it wouldn't work."

.
.
.

"It will. Just wait—just hold the rope right there—"



A voice called from behind. The dusk was falling over our heads
—and we were hungry, too.
The cat freed itself from Jay's embrace with a swift jump and a silky meow,
and went back through where it'd come through,
out through the bush.


We could hear the meows from farther and farther
away.


"I think we'd better go back—"

Liru turned to look at Jay—he had just got here.











"At this pace, we'll never finish."