I followed an overhead bird, hoping for an omen to guide my travels, a secret, mysterious passage off the island; but I don't fully believe in miracles, and putting my faith in a hawk soring overhead seems foolish at best.
And I don't want to disrespect my ancestors. But I need a miracle.
And I did believe Grandpapa's stories when I was younger. And I will keep the faith, just the same, regardless of my doubt, because I don't want to live a hopeless, pointless life, with no purpose other than to breathe.
The ducklings are growing by leaps and bounds. I hate to think of them as food, but survival means not cuddling up to future food and starving.
Please pray we're rescued, Grann; before we have to eat the ducklings. Sleep well.
