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by Rachel Starr Thomson
The small boy stared, fascinated, at the dark opening at the base of the rock. It seemed that he could see something inside it… a faint light… for a long moment he forgot to breathe. The hunger in his lungs grew till he couldn’t ignore it anymore, and he pulled air into them, hardly noticing the tightness across his chest as he moved closer, stumbling slightly.
A hand on his shoulder startled him. He whirled around, dirty fists clenched, and his face was nearly swathed in a young woman’s skirt. He looked up at her. She was frowning.
“Come away,” she said. Her eyes weren’t on him. They were on the hole.