In response to the book, I found myself tumbling backwards onto the mountain’s floor. Regretting even looking at it I flung it against the mountain’s wall and watched as it fell to the ground with a thud. I then stared at the ground with an emptiness in my heart.

Child abduction? The boy had not abducted us, had he? I followed him willingly, that is not abduction, is it? Could one call willingness the same as forcefulness? Impossible. But how did he convince me with those eyes to flee from my life and come to a new world? I lived in the wilderness for four years without questioning anything he had done. Maybe that is what abduction is like. Or maybe it is not.

I felt sickened by my thoughts and forced myself to retreat my mind’s war. Finally I picked up the last object, a dull blue journal that could fit in a pocket. I held it tightly in my hands as I shook with fearful anticipation of what could be revealed. When I tore open the first page four polaroid photographs drifted to the ground. Two fell upside down; however, the two facing upwards revealed enough.

The first image appeared to be an eleven year old with charcoal locks and sickly pale skin. He wore a frown over his face and tears spilled from his cedar eyes. Scars covered the arm revealed in the image and the edge of his bareback that could be viewed displayed the beginning of a mighty burn wound. The boy had to be Maple before he had been brought to the new world.

The second image appeared to be a fourteen year old boy with strawberry blond ruffled hair and softly tanned skin. His eyes glowed of a blissful blue and a snickering smile painted over his face. His arms were crossed tightly and he appeared to be wearing a deep blue jersey. The boy had to be Thunder before he had been brought to the new world.

With hesitation I flipped over the photograph nearest to me to see the image of myself when I was thirteen. My eyes were a muddled blue green and were peering at a computer screen. My golden locks were curled and pushed to the side. My skin was much paler than my current pale complexion and I appeared quite distant. This picture had to have been taken before the boy had brought me to the new world.

And as I expected, I flipped over the final photograph to see a thirteen year old version of Ember. He had his brunette locks combed nearly over his eyes, but the wrathful rage of his youthful persona could be seen in the slivers of his eyes. His lightly tanned skin wore a few bruises, but his scowl showed deeper psychological scars than his body did. This picture had also been taken before Ember had been brought to the new world.

I felt sickened by the images. Our arrivals to the new world had been premeditated, for better or for worse. Whether or not the boy meant well, he had meant to abduct all four of us.