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I nodded. Good.
He strode out to get the kill. I stepped out to join him, but my foot landed on a slick root and shot out sideways. I dropped, landing hard on my bad knee, my foot out to the side at an odd angle.
I hissed and grabbed my knee, biting my lip hard to keep from crying as tears sprung to my eyes. I wouldn’t cry. Not in front of my dad.
I shifted until I was sitting, my leg out in front of me, and sucked in sharp breaths through my nose, blinking through the pain.
“Anything broken?” Dad called.
“No,” I said through gritted teeth. The sharp pain was settling back into a throb. I didn’t think I’d hurt it too badly.
“Then come on,” Dad said. “There are some traps farther on I want to check, and we might be able to get a couple more of these little hoppers.”
“No.” My temper was flaring, or I would have tried for some nicer way to say it.
“You’re fine. Just walk it off, that’s the best way to handle a little bump,” Dad said cheerfully.
“I can’t just walk it off,” I snapped. “Why can’t you just believe me when I tell you I have to be careful? My doctors—”
“Doctors are really good at convincing you you’re sick. That you’re weak. They turn the body into diseases and problems. That’s their job, and I don’t blame them, but they’re no good anymore at seeing what’s strong and natural and good in your body. Trust me. I know what’s best for you.”
I twisted to glare at him. “You know what, Dad? I am weak. And no amount of believing otherwise is going to make my muscles suddenly stronger. And if you knew what was best for me, neither of us would be here, would we?” I pulled and pushed my way to my feet, standing unsteadily. “You can go check your traps and kill Thumper and Bambi and the rest of the forest friends, but I’m not going.”
He grunted. His fingers tightened around the barrel of the rifle where he held it, a quick, reflexive motion. “Fine,” he said. “Wait here, then.”
He yanked the arrow free of the rabbit and stalked off into the trees. I watched him go, anger and pain throbbing in turn. A familiar sensation.
“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I said. There was no one to hear.
It began to rain. I didn’t feel like sitting in the middle of the woods for however long it took my dad to decide to come collect me, so I started hobbling in the direction I’d come. It didn’t take me long to find a stick that would work as a makeshift cane, and I moved along at a decent pace after that, spurred by the anger that had taken up residence in my ribs, making a nest of resentment and helplessness.
I knew I couldn’t stay angry with him, not if I was going to have to survive months with him as my only company. I needed to find a way not to hate him, but it was hard. He was just wrong. He might love me, but he didn’t know what was best for me. Not even close.
He was going to get me hurt.
Hurt worse.
I halted. I’d remembered the path up until now, but the sea of green in front of me all looked the same. Had we hooked south here, or kept straight? How far were we from the lake?
I started forward in the most familiar-looking direction, then forced myself to stop. I was being an idiot. I wanted to keep stalking off, nursing this anger, but I’d just get myself lost. And lost out here could be a death sentence, even with my dad looking for me.
I sat down against a tree and set the walking stick and the bow beside me, wrapping my arms around my knees. So I’d wait. In the rain, cold and damp, my leg aching, alone. I wanted to cry. I wanted to curl up and feel sorry for myself, but instead I set my jaw and stared straight ahead. I was sick of feeling like a kid throwing a tantrum. Dad made me feel like some snotty, spoiled teenager, whining about not getting candy or an Xbox or something.
I wasn’t whining. I was trying to protect myself. And I was heartbroken to realize that my dad might be part of what I needed protecting from. The fact that he thought he was helping me made it worse, not better.
A sound rumbled under the rain. An engine. A plane engine, distant but drawing closer. Griff? I craned my neck up to peer at the sky, but the sliver the treetops allowed me to see was empty and gray.
“Sequoia?”
Dad’s voice. Not my name, I thought, stubborn, and I didn’t answer. I should, I knew, but I clamped my lips shut and leaned my head against the tree and stayed silent.
“Sequoia?”
The plane was getting closer and so was he, his footsteps crashing through the brush. “Jess!” I could feel his anger, even from this distance. What would he do once he found me? I didn’t think he was violent, but what did I know?
Your dad had a temper, too.
He loved me.
