The first year that Taylor went to summer camp, she was only eight years old. Old enough to be curious about the woods, and not old enough to be afraid of them, or of what was in them.
So when she wandered off from the scout leader, chasing after a grasshopper, she didn't start to cry or freeze up when the sun finally set behind the trees and night fell all around her.
at the riot of color the sunset sparked among the canopy, and grinned at the cicadas, and tried to catch a firefly or two.
Of course, as twilight deepened into the kind of inky black that never happens in cities, Taylor couldn't help but get a little worried.
It had been after lunch when she'd stepped off the trail, and now it was after dinner, and she couldn't remember where the camp was from here.
But Taylor was a smart girl, everyone said so, and smart girls knew to stay in one place if they ever got lost.
So she found a fallen log, gave it a cursory brush off to clear any fallen leaves, and sat down to wait. And wait. And wait.
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