Then my world changed.
Suddenly, I stood in the middle of a dappled green forest filled with huge oak, chestnut, and hickory trees on the edge of the river, the Potomac, I think. I held a scared, shaking rabbit, a trowel, and a projectile point. Only now the point was attached to a wooden shaft and deeply embedded in the bleeding rabbit—which was dying. The canopy, screens, tripods, the excavations, and even Mom had disappeared.
I was sure it was all a dream, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz (I kept thinking please don’t let there be flying monkeys, I hate those monkeys!). That was it, I had hit my head and was unconscious, please just let me be unconscious. Unconscious, yeah, that’s it, unconscious. Better than this being real.
Nope. Not unconscious. Not dreaming. Still awake.
As I stared, the rabbit stopped shaking and lay bleeding in my hand while only five feet away stood a small, darkly tanned boy dressed in these bizarre leather britches and holding another spear exactly like the one I was holding, except it didn’t have a bloody rabbit attached. He kept his spear pointed right at me. Right at my heart. Nope, not a dream. Definitely not a dream.
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