The air is fresh and crisp. It smells like rain and not (luckily) of cow poo. Mum marches ahead in the distance, tall grass waving around her waist, her hair loosening itself from her bun with every step. Maisie runs ahead and busies herself with plucking grass from the ground and tying the ends in knots.

I sigh and hurry after them. We had taken several buses to get here and already it's past lunchtime and my stomach growls with hunger. To add to that, the load on my shoulders is killing me. At first, I didn't think I could walk three steps without toppling over but, a thousand steps later, somehow my legs seem to manage.

As we venture onwards, Mum seems to sense my doubts. She tells me this is the starting point at least, but already I'm beginning to lose hope. The others could be anywhere. We won't find them in a million years.

Finally, Mum tells us to stop and eat something. We flop on the long flouncy grass and open the rucksacks laden with food. My mother takes out the sandwiches and we wolf them down, one after the other with water like they're tablets.

Then Mum tells us to keep going. I try to complain but she reminds me, hand on heart, that you cannot give up in the wilderness. I try not to give her the satisfaction that she's right but get up anyway and together, we all trudge further and further into the trees.

"How are we going to find the others?" I ask.

Mum swats at a fly buzzing annoyingly around her ear. "I'm not sure. They probably would have left a trail, don't you think?"

I spend the next while wondering if the others were clever enough to leave a trail and if so, what it could be. But the day is still and the path ahead of us is empty.

***

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