A Game of Leapfrog

A Game of Leapfrog is Chapter 10 of How I Met My Echo On Big Wolf Cliff

Liz’s feet are lead, sunk ankle-deep in damp moss at the base of Jenny’s cliff—thankfully, because her head feels as if it is full of excited bees flitting in every direction. She might float off if she weren't so firmly grounded. She should be scared after what her mom said; she should stay far from Big Wolf Cliff—but here she is. Liz has never been one to spook easily. Nothing that terrible happened to her mom. Maybe Jenny was right—she just lost track of her mom. Liz promised not to come here alone, but her fingers were crossed. Her mom should know: an oath only counts if it ends in a pinky swear. She was a kid once, too.

“Well, here goes.”

She reaches up, planting her hand onto the familiar root. Her foot wedges into the crack in the cliff, and her fingers find the jagged rock next to the rotten, skinny jack pine trunk. Her muscle memory kicks in. Her feet, once heavy, now follow without protest. Her left foot hits the final hold, and she hauls herself over the edge.

The sky is clear and bright. Slices of warm sunshine cut through the trees as Liz follows the path to Jenny’s glade. She won’t go too far into Jenny’s world today. Coming back hadn’t given her pause, but she’s not reckless. Her mom has good instincts, but so does she. Liz may not have her mom’s way with people, but she has a bond with nature that no one else has, except Jenny. God’s earth has never let her down like people have. If the vibes get weird, she’ll turn back.

She steps into the glade, and it's empty. She’s never arrived without the cabin in the back near the crescent grove of white pine. It looks strange but also beautiful. The moss glistens in the early morning light because the dew hasn’t evaporated yet. Everything sparkles like it’s covered with fairy dust.

“Jenny?!”

She plucks a winter mint leaf, breaks it, and takes a long whiff of the sweet scent.

“Jenny?! It’s Liz! Are you here?”

Maybe it’s too early. To avoid suspicion, Liz left first thing to kayak instead of waiting until afternoon for her usual solo hike. When her cousins aren’t around, she gathers leaves for tea and hunts for mushrooms. Her mom hates bugs, so she rarely tags along—unless there’s a blueberry patch or a neighbor’s cabin with a G&T at the end. This morning, she was content on the porch with her coffee and a book, so Liz slipped out easily.

Liz walks to the edge of Big Wolf Cliff and eases her legs over the side. Leaning back on her hands, the lake view quiets her restless mind. From up here, she can see every cabin around the bay. The water is calm, untouched by boats. The human world hasn’t stirred yet.

“I wish I could have a cabin right here,” she mumbles.

She peeks around, hoping to see her friend, but she’s still alone.

From this perch, Liz can watch the lake commotion without being part of it. Maybe that’s why she’s drawn to Jenny, who lives quietly among the animals. She lies back in the moss, legs dangling over the cliff, and waits. A butterfly lands on her nose. It stares into her eyes, her breath just enough to rustle its wings. Why was she made a girl? She’d make a better critter.

It flutters off, and Liz sits up to check back at the glade. Her wait is over. Jenny’s cabin is back but not fully settled, hovering in the steam of the evaporating dew. It’s translucent; she can see the white pines through its walls. The mist shimmers in the warm light pouring out the window, as if the sun is trapped inside.

Liz hops across the damp moss with sneakers soaked through to her toes.

“Jenny, are you here?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Hello?”

“It’s Liz.”

She stops at the door, hand instinctively gripping the knob. Without knocking, she yanks it open. Sunlight spills from the cabin across the glade, pulling her into its warm embrace. The door slams shut.

There’s no sunny middle room; Liz steps straight into the world beyond. The glade is bright and warm, but the wind gusts are so strong they feel like they could sweep her away.

Liz takes a step and hesitates, scanning the glade.

“Jenny?!” she yells, but it falls flat as the wind howls.

A gust slams Liz against the door. There’s no point fighting it—where would she go? She shouldn’t wander these magical woods alone. Sliding down, she sits on the step, waiting for Jenny. She’s never been far. Jenny always appears before Liz calls, so she should find her soon. The heavy door grounds her; though the wind unsettles her, she feels safer on the step. It’s never been this bad—just light breezes before. The torrents make Liz feel claustrophobic, and it’s hard to focus. As the wind tears through the branches, rainbows cascade, no longer gentle but violent gales. The flashes pulse like frantic dancers to the trees’ heavy rhythm. Each burst of light blinds her. Shielding her eyes with one hand, she clutches the step with the other. She’s floated away once in Jenny’s world; she doesn’t want to fly off here, alone and so close to the cliff’s edge.

The tall grasses and wildflowers whip back and forth, leaving sharp, colourful trails. Could they slice her ankles if she stepped off the path? She shakes her head. No, they’re only grass.

Her hair blows wildly in the wind. She tugs her hood up, cinching the cords tight around her face. The wind howls along the windows, lifting the wood shingles. The roof rattles and hums like wooden castanets.

Where are you?

“Jenny?!”

Liz leans back against the door and spots a nest that’s fallen from the eaves, hanging from twine or a twisted blade of grass. Despite the fierce wind, it doesn’t sway. How curious. She steadies herself with one palm on the door as the wind pushes in waves. Reaching for the nest, the side of her hoodie catches on something sharp. She swivels, screeching as a branch that wasn’t there before pierces the cloth, as if trying to grow through her. She pulls free from a long thorn. This isn’t a branch. A trail of twisted vines winds down the steps, with roots grounding into the earth every few feet, as she watches, forming a natural railing through the woods.

Leaves burst from the vine next to the step. Is it trying to root into Liz or lead her somewhere? The top is smooth, but the bottom is covered in sharp thorns. If it’s leading her, it could do without the thorns.

A loud chirp cuts through the wind. Liz coughs. Without the gusts, the air feels dead and dry. She takes a slow breath, then another, and soon her breathing returns to normal.

She looks up to see a blue bird perched on the vine railing, twenty feet away. It belts out a loud chirp, sending a rainbow rippling through the air before it fades. A bright yellow bird drops to join it, and soon the birds alternate calls, one after another, until a colorful flock rests on the vine. The calls stop, and all eyes lock on Liz, who stands frozen, feet glued to the step.

The little violet bird closest to the cabin chirps and leaps away over each bird on the vine until it’s at the head of the group. Once it settles in, all the birds lock back onto Liz. Like a game of leapfrog, the next bird does the same, hopping over each bird until it’s now at the front of the line. All eyes return to Liz before the next bird takes its turn, this time a cute little yellow one. This continues with each bird, moving the flock further and further into the forest with each bird’s turn.

The violet bird closest to the cabin chirps and leaps over the others to the front. Once settled, all the birds turn back to Liz. The next, a bright blue one, hops over the others, followed by a small yellow one. One by one, each bird hops to the front, pushing the flock deeper into the forest with every leap.

It’s clear she’s meant to follow, but should she? It’s been an odd day, she’s alone, and after her mom’s story, she knows it’s unsafe to wander without Jenny. But before she decides, her foot steps off the stoop. Electricity surges through her sandals, like by the creek, but it doesn’t lift her as it had before, but moves her forward like a treadmill. She grabs the new railing as each step projects her forward on a bubble of air. There’s no time to reconsider. People have let her down, but never a bird. She must follow.