The sky darkened and the clouds had gathered into a potential storm. The three friends had not made it halfway down the valley yet. The two girls slipped on the rocks and wet leaves, sometimes falling on their backsides. They had laughed at first. Even the boy, who knew if they did not hurry they would have trouble. They had not brought a flashlight, or enough water. Later, when one of the girls noticed the sun had fallen and the sky no longer radiated the pleasant blue as it did earlier in the day, a feeling of panic had blanketed them. The boy tried to calm them, helping them down as best he could. They were not graceful creatures. They were city girls, beautiful and tall, but they had not yet grown into themselves, so each step they took on the pebbles was like a newborn foal trying to use its legs. Some time later, when it was properly dark, the boy noticed they had taken a wrong turn and did not recognize the path. One of the girls started crying. The other kept asking what they should do. The boy said there was nothing to do except keep going. Be careful, he said. Be as careful as you can. I’ll go first.
They sidestepped and held on to rotten branches and leaves covered in the leftover cocoons of caterpillars. The moon rose over their heads and finally they saw the lake at the bottom of the valley where the cottage was. But they were still very far away, and it was another hour and a half before they reached the original path. By then, their throats were parched and one of the girls said she had difficulty swallowing. Oh god, she hacked. I can’t swallow. The boy said to try and build up spit. I’m trying, the girl said. Then the boy heard something like a stream, and he told them to wait. He went along slowly, listening hard for the source of the noise. He found a little trail veering off the path. There he saw the moon shine rays of light onto a trough of water, a hose secured above, from which a stream of water was pouring. He shouted for the girls, who called back, their voices scared. Over here! he yelled. Some time later, the girls arrived. The girl who had difficulty swallowing rushed forward, but the other girl pulled her back. How do you know it’s safe? she asked. The boy said it was probably water from a farm. He had seen water droplets on the map. That doesn’t mean it’s safe, the girl said. But they did not have a choice. They still had another hour to go, and all three of them were feeling the pressure on their dried mouths. So they drank, dipping their hands into the water and drinking fully. After they finished, they set off with renewed vigor. The boy kept and eye on the lake to guide them. They stopped twice to gather their breaths, and then pushed on again. Their thighs burned and their feet felt as if they were on fire with blisters. Finally, finally, the boy spotted the main entrance to the little town, and all of them ran to it despite the pain they felt. When they reached it and passed over the little bridge under which a stream rushed by, they slowed to catch their breaths. Crickets trilled and a few times they could hear the trout jumping out of the water and land with a splash. They joked that something magical had been in that water they drank, for they held hands to form a circle and spun around like children playing, and under the moonlight, among the cobblestone streets and whitewashed homes, they danced and danced and danced.