tracks leading here, they’ll find you. If I change the trail, they’ll lose time.”
“Elsie, you’re eight.”
“Almost nine.”
That did not make Wade feel any better.
But she had already decided.
The Trail She Changed
Elsie returned to the clearing and worked quickly.
She removed the rope, scattered leaves over the disturbed ground, and brushed away the most obvious footprints. She didn’t try to make it look perfect. Her grandfather had taught her that perfect looked suspicious.
The goal was uncertainty.
When the engines cut out nearby, Elsie pressed
