“Do you think they"re out there?”
We rested in a small clearing between the road and the forest. It took Beth three tries to light the campfire with the wood matches we found in a tin at the house. The old fire starters ignited and fizzled out in the same instant. The odour of sulphur followed by a white curling tendril of smoke extinguished any hope with each try. And as daylight faded, our impatience grew. On the second strike the third wooden stick burst into flame with a hiss. Beth touched the match to a clump of dried grass, adding twigs and then the branches we"d gathered. The dark descended, but we had a fire.
A loud snap erupted from the flames sending a spray of tiny orange sparks into the air. Each fiery particle twinkled and danced for a moment until one by one the tiny embers
