Nootau held his hand above his shoulder and waved two fingers forward, all the while gliding effortlessly along the dirt path toward the sound. Despite the fading light, he dodged the tall loblolly pines and avoided the prickly pear shrubs with the grace of a mustang.
Samuel stopped and took a deep breath, his eyes watching Nootau disappear around the brush, and then he placed his hands on his knees and bent over, searching for air. But he rested only a moment before following Nootau through the thick grass.
“Let’s go, Samuel,” Nootau called, “we won’t make dinner, but we must try to be home before dark.”
“Where are we going?” Samuel asked, but the words were to himself, only a whisper; he needed to preserve his strength to keep up with the young Algonquin boy striding ahead of him.
Samuel reached the bank of the sound where Nootau had already unmoored the canoe from an old border fence and was now dragging it across the sand to the water. Samuel stood in awe for just a moment as he watched the brown-skinned boy, about his own age but seemingly twice as strong. He moved so differently than any boy he’d ever known, Samuel thought, moved in a way Samuel knew he could never, no matter the training.
