Two Wolves by Tristan Bancks Read Free Book Online Page A

edge of the steep hill and looked down through the pine forest toward the creek. He had never spent time in the bush, had never left the suburbs. He did not want to go to the creek. The wilderness was his enemy.
    â€˜What did you do?’ said a voice from above. Ben looked up, squinting into the sun. It was Olive sitting on the lowest branch of the tree.
    The hunger hit Ben again. It was late morning and his stomach ached but he knew there was no food.
    â€˜I’m goin’ out!’ Dad stormed out of the cabin. He was carrying the sports bag.
    â€˜Be careful, Ray,’ Mum said, following him. ‘And please make the arrangements today. I can’t stay here.’
    Dad climbed into the car and slammed the door.
    â€˜Ray?’
    â€˜Yes, I’ll make the arrangements,’ he said through the window.
    â€˜And get some clothes for the kids!’
    Dad reversed, spun the wheel and powered off up the hill, leaving them in a cloud of swirling dust.
    Ben turned and, without a word, he let the trees take him. He let himself go off the edge of the slope and disappear. Down, down, down.

Ben flew steeply down, dodging thick, rough chocolate-­brown tree trunks, his feet deep in pine needles. Sun lit him in sharp bursts as he thundered into the valley. The water-rush became ever louder, filling him up.
    The creek emerged through the trees and Ben began to slow, digging his heels into the damp black soil beneath. He came to a skidding stop at the large mossy sandstone boulders that led down to the water. The creek was seven or eight metres wide. Sun hit the surface in patches, revealing muddy-brown rocks beneath. In the middle the rocks disappeared. Ben wondered how deep it was.
    Downstream there was a small waterfall leading to a lower section of creek. On the far side, a sheer sandstone cliff soared fifty metres above Ben’s head. Fishbone ferns poked from cracks and scars in the rock. The wall ran along the creek’s edge as far up and downstream as he could see.
    Thirst tore at him then. He jumped onto a boulder that was shaped almost like a pyramid and leapt from rock to rock, careful to avoid the slippery-looking patches of moss. He was halfway down to the water when he thought about snakes. They liked rocks. He had a book on snakes at home, a library book that he had never returned. (After snakes, his greatest fear was going back to the public library, in case he was arrested for theft.) Ben loved to scare himself in the comfort of his bedroom but, out here, he couldn’t shut the book and stop the fear. Nature was real and true and terrible.
    He paused on a rock and looked up the hill, thinking of running back to the safety of the cabin. Which was worse? Snakes or his family? Fear told him to get off the rocks but thirst drove him down to the water. He pulled his school socks up to his knees and stepped carefully, eyes darting all around, waiting for venomous fangs to emerge from a crevice or a crack and end him.
    He stepped onto a mossy green rock near the water, slipping and breaking his fall with the palms of his hands. The sting screamed and he quickly dipped his hands into the fast-moving creek. The water was cold, soothing the sting. His throat and stomach howled for liquid.
    Ben looked upstream, wondering if it was safe to drink. He cupped water in his hands. There were tiny specks of moss and other plant matter floating in it, but Ben’s thirst was too great. He brought the cupped handful to his mouth and gulped it down. He scooped his hands in again and sucked the water back into his throat. It felt so good and cold that his head and insides lit up. He scooped again and slurped thirstily, drinking till his belly ached. He splashed his face and collapsed back onto the mossy rock, another boulder behind him making a backrest.
    There was something uncomfortable in Ben’s back pocket. He took it out: the book he had taken from the cabin. On the cover, a kid standing in