Evan Mallory

The rainfly, once moss-green, bore a streak of soot the width of a hand that smeared down from the apex to the stake loop. I touched the mark, and the residue blackened my fingertip. Somehow a burning ember had brushed the fabric without melting it. I packed quickly, eager to leave Buzzard Rock.

The rainfly, once moss-green, bore a streak of soot the width of a hand that smeared down from the apex to the stake loop. I touched the mark, and the residue blackened my fingertip. Somehow a burning ember had brushed the fabric without melting it. I packed quickly, eager to leave Buzzard Rock.

The trail climbed toward Mount Rogers under a sky thin as milk, and every switchback delivered the same scent. Wood smoke. but layered now with the sour note of singed hair. At Wilburn Ridge I paused to drink and spotted hoof prints, yet several were scorched black, edges crisp as cookie cutters burned into the turf. Steam curled from one as though it had cooled only moments earlier.

The trail climbed toward Mount Rogers under a sky thin as milk, and every switchback delivered the same scent. Wood smoke. but layered now with the sour note of singed hair. At Wilburn Ridge I paused to drink and spotted hoof prints, yet several were scorched black, edges crisp as cookie cutters burned into the turf. Steam curled from one as though it had cooled only moments earlier.

A pony herd grazed a hundred yards off, none limped or seemed hurt. Still, unease crawled up my spine like cold drizzle under a collar.

A pony herd grazed a hundred yards off, none limped or seemed hurt. Still, unease crawled up my spine like cold drizzle under a collar.

late light slanted gold between rhododendron thickets when i found a level spot beneath two hemlocks their trunks leaned together like conspirators shielding me from bitter wind i gathered dead twigs careful not to break the fire ban and settled into my sleeping bag twilight painted the tent walls amber then violet

late light slanted gold between rhododendron thickets when i found a level spot beneath two hemlocks their trunks leaned together like conspirators shielding me from bitter wind i gathered dead twigs careful not to break the fire ban and settled into my sleeping bag twilight painted the tent walls amber then violet

Sometime in the black hours, a shape loomed against the fly, kneeling, shoulders hunched. Lightning, silent and distant, flashed on the horizon, illuminating a silhouette whose head was cocked as though listening to my heartbeat. I slapped the knife clipped to my ridgeline, unzipped the door, and jabbed my light forward. The figure was gone, but on the ground lay a neat pile of cedar shavings.

Sometime in the black hours, a shape loomed against the fly, kneeling, shoulders hunched. Lightning, silent and distant, flashed on the horizon, illuminating a silhouette whose head was cocked as though listening to my heartbeat. I slapped the knife clipped to my ridgeline, unzipped the door, and jabbed my light forward. The figure was gone, but on the ground lay a neat pile of cedar shavings.

they formed an arrow its barbed point aimed south deeper into the wilderness the shavings smouldered at their tips tiny curls collapsing into gray dust without flame i scooped a handful still warm and scattered them in the wind sleep deserted me

they formed an arrow its barbed point aimed south deeper into the wilderness the shavings smouldered at their tips tiny curls collapsing into gray dust without flame i scooped a handful still warm and scattered them in the wind sleep deserted me

with each hour the air grew warmer my breath no longer visible condensation beaded on the map inside my journal and when i turned the page to tomorrow's date the ink bubbled and ran the paper itself curling as if held above a candle i wanted to believe dawn would make sense of it that daylight would blow away childish dread instead sunrise lit the forest in bruised purple

with each hour the air grew warmer my breath no longer visible condensation beaded on the map inside my journal and when i turned the page to tomorrow's date the ink bubbled and ran the paper itself curling as if held above a candle i wanted to believe dawn would make sense of it that daylight would blow away childish dread instead sunrise lit the forest in bruised purple

and every step south felt like descending into a kiln my pulse drummed in my ears sweat traced icy rivulets down my ribs though the thermometer read forty-two around me sap bled from spruce knots and sizzled on the bark i quickened my pace repeating a quiet litany seven days ten miles clear head but behind that mantra another thought clawed for attention

and every step south felt like descending into a kiln my pulse drummed in my ears sweat traced icy rivulets down my ribs though the thermometer read forty-two around me sap bled from spruce knots and sizzled on the bark i quickened my pace repeating a quiet litany seven days ten miles clear head but behind that mantra another thought clawed for attention

Something out here is burning, and it wants me to follow the smoke. The fallen hemlock looked as if a colossal hand had twisted it from the soil and slammed it across the white-blazed corridor. Its shattered crown blocked the trail so completely I could not even snake under the branches. I studied my map and spotted a faint dotted line. Devil's Ladder.

Something out here is burning, and it wants me to follow the smoke. The fallen hemlock looked as if a colossal hand had twisted it from the soil and slammed it across the white-blazed corridor. Its shattered crown blocked the trail so completely I could not even snake under the branches. I studied my map and spotted a faint dotted line. Devil's Ladder.

an unofficial connector said to shave a mile off the ridge if you were willing to endure knee-busting grades at that moment the main trail felt like a chimney spewing smoke straight at me so i chose the detour and plunged into the understory almost at once the forest temperature leapt my breath no longer steamed instead a damp heat pressed against my skin warm enough that sweat pooled under my pack straps even though the thermometer on my watch still insisted it was forty-five degrees

an unofficial connector said to shave a mile off the ridge if you were willing to endure knee-busting grades at that moment the main trail felt like a chimney spewing smoke straight at me so i chose the detour and plunged into the understory almost at once the forest temperature leapt my breath no longer steamed instead a damp heat pressed against my skin warm enough that sweat pooled under my pack straps even though the thermometer on my watch still insisted it was forty-five degrees