Our plucky heroine…

Teffin didn’t feel very plucky. Some days she did, and in fact it was practically a one word summation of her idiom. Eight miles out into the woods near her home, late at night, and in the beginning throws of a Texas sized downpour she wasn’t feeling all that plucky.

She hefted the pack a little higher on her back and clambered over a downed tree. She chuckled at the thought of any of the prissy belles in her sixth grade class trying this. The sobering thought of what she was really attempting quieted her mirth. As yet another mysterious and ominous rustling sounded in the underbrush the thought of turning back returned to dog her once again.

Pa would like that, his little girl chickening out as usual. Ma would love it, nothing but relief. Her brothers would never let her hear the end of it.

But what of Maria, she asked herself. She was out there somewhere, and all people could do was whisper and leave things to _ los federales_.

Not Teffin. No, she had to be plucky.