The girl scrambled up the hill. The soft rock and dried shrubbery came loose in her grip; her feet slid in the dirt; she couldn't hear anything but her laboured breathing. The hot, dry air didn't help. It hadn't rained in weeks, and the sun shining brightly overhead made things worse. Her mouth was dry, her throat parched. Beads of sweat on her forehead ran down her face in streams, occasionally falling into her eyes. Anxiously, she swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, brushing away a few drops and adding dust to her face.
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Penana
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