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Jennifer picked up another crimson stone, this one at the waterline of a small lake, and stuffed it into her bulging pocket. The voice of a little boy called from the lake, barely breaking the silence. He was calling for help. Jennifer scanned the surface until she may make out what may need been the boy’s head so she stepped into the water to get closer. Cigarette smoke invaded her nose, a scent she had realized to hate before her father give up the nasty habit. She turned to face the shore. A man stood outside the line of timber drawing on a cigarette, the tip glowing in opposition to the darkish backdrop of the forest. With one hand he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and blew twin jets of smoke from his nostrils. With the opposite hand he tossed something, and a small red stone landed at Jennifer’s feet in the mud.

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