The Cave

Kathy Lauren Miller


They were ten and twelve, scrawny arms and gamboling legs. Best friends on this late spring day. The rains had come and gone, washing away the remnants of winter’s debris. They race along the ridge, chasing winds that whisper secrets only they can hear.  They follow those whispers deep into the woods, lured from an often trod path.

For who can resist the wind?

“Hey,” calls out the eldest, his ginger hair curling from beneath his baseball cap, “What”s this?”

The youngest, to prove his mettle, leaps over the narrowest part of the crevice, “Aw, probably just a cave.”

“It looks old. And deep,” Ginger says, his interest piqued, though he stands back, eyes narrowed.

The younger one, his hair blowing stick straight, black as a raven’s wing, says,” Could be Indian bones inside,” his brown eyes wide with challenge.

The gauntlet thrown,  Ginger puffs out his chest, though his…

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