ThirteenOn the morning of the second day, Clifton knew he was lost. The trail, if there ever was one, seemed to have vanished and he spent several unproductive and increasingly frustrating hours searching through bits of scrub for anything – a hoof print, remnants of a campfire, a piece of discarded clothing or scrap of food. But he found nothing. As the panic set in he made the decision to camp, take his bearings and head back to Glory. Due east. All he had to do was follow the sun.
But how to do that when the sun would be forever moving across the sky, away from where he wanted to go? Following it west proved comparatively easy; there was a point in his journey when he grew almost smug at his developing skill. East, however, was something else entirely.
A trickle of a river meandered t
