Àwọn Àmì-ìwé Tí A Fẹ̀

It was Jessie who stopped suddenly, raising a hand. “What?” Sarah whispered. He pointed. Boot prints. Fresh. Too clean to be from hikers. Too many to be random. Sarah’s stomach dropped. “You think…?” Jessie didn’t answer. But he started moving again—slower now, quieter. They followed the trail cautiously until voices drifted through the trees.