They floated downstream, the river sliding silently beneath the raft. The stars, reflected in its undulations, were like smoldering embers in a vein of shiny black coal.
“Til they come looking? Not before morning, if we’re lucky.”
“Then we’ll go to ground — hide out in them trees. Thicker past the mill.”
Tom rolled aside. Up the bank, the trees were marching by in gray and black bands, broken only now and then by the glow of a lamp in the distance. They had left the town behind.
“You know what then,” the man said. “Now stop asking.”
This story is my response Madison Woods’ Friday Fictioneers prompt (the picture, from her blog, is the prompt). Check out the other stories (including Madison’s) and submit your own on the comments page!
Feedback and other stories welcome below! Please feel free to check out some of my other fiction — I’d love the feedback!