He tries to curl around her to keep her warm, but instead his outline blends into hers like a thin veil. After the cold sleepless night above the trees, they watch the sky get lighter. They are in the tangerine peaks, eating energy bars and sipping from their canteens. The topographical map is spread out on the rock before them, its corners held down by smaller stones.
They are on a mountaintop. They know their destination is supposed to be hilly, not mountainous, and covered in grapevines. There are no vines in sight. They aren’t sure how to get from here to there. How to jump into the space between stanzas, into the space between frames?
Meanwhile, signals transmit from her wrist, the data monitored and analyzed by a listening station, then passed on to intelligence services.
Suddenly there’s a helicopter. They duck down to stay clear of the blades and don’t know whether to run. The guide hadn’t mentioned this part. Before they can think, someone leans out of the helicopter door with a rifle cocked, aims, shoots. She falls.
Suddenly there’s a hunter. They duck down so as not to be seen and don’t know whether to run. The guide hadn’t mentioned this part. Before they can think, the hunter lifts his bow and arrow, aims, shoots. She falls.
Suddenly there’s a storm. They pack up their things and start to move back toward the trees, but the rain makes it difficult to run. The guide hadn’t mentioned this part. Before they get far, lightning lights, aims, strikes. She falls.