The place where wild pines grow

High up, in the dusty air. Living under the curl of the milky way by night and the dry orange light of the sun by day. Their feet rest in the smell of twigs, the bustle of beetles and the prick of their own cast off needles. About their tops crows bob and weave at chittering squirrels who have approached too close to a nest. Pollen and gossimer waft through the short upper branches.

The man sits at the base of one of the larger trunks in his ripped and faded red plaid shirt trying for one second to forget the hunger, the thirst. The abject weariness. Trying to appreciate this scene around him because he knows it won't last.

A pop from high up starts him, the grime on his neck chaffing between skin and collar as he looks up. Too tired for even a slight boost of adrenaline he watches as a pinecone drops and hits another branch below. Another soft pop.

He closes his eyes, one hand fumbling through a heavy coat that lays nearby. His fingers brush past empty mylar wrappers. He'd done this action at least a half a dozen times in the last ten minutes, hoping there would be something to eat this time, knowing he'd have to wait at least another half a day at least.

His canteen doesn't betray him at least. He takes a few modest sips at first. The way he was trained. He swishes the metallic tasting water around enjoying this all to brief respite.

The sunlight dims noticeably, then brightens and with that he knows he has to get up again. His arms, legs, back, neck, every connection, every fibre shouts when he stands.

In the far distance the puffy white clouds bring a smile. Those hadn't been there this morning. This were looking up. This hill may be lost but the next one may be saved.

He looks at the many fronts, the snaking creeks of flame in the valley below him swirling in eager anticipation of their next meal. There is something new, he can tell that there is an apprehension to the fire. The winds have changed. The breeze is behind him as well as the rain.

Grabbing his coat and shovel he is the first of the crew to rise. He makes his way down the hill picturing which stumps and bushes need to go. Which of the wild pines can be saved.