They are Lamanites, the army of King Noah, but they look like Indians to me. They are following me, chasing me, tracking me. But I am fast. I can run, and I do. From the moment they spot us at the Waters of Mormon, I run. But now I have to rest. I have to hide. Behind me a twig snaps. I spin around, sure that I will see a poisonous Lamanite spear flying toward me. To my relief it is Alma, also crouching behind a giant leaf which drapes down from a tall banana tree. Then I hear a quiet swishing sound, a leaf being pushed aside, and a footstep. Alma points behind me and signals me to run, and then he is gone. I turn toward the sound and I see him. The Lamanite is coming toward me. He sees me at the same time that I see him and he lifts his spear of death to launch it at me. I roll over and onto my feet. I am running again, but the ground is wet. I slip onto my knee. My foot is caught, tangled in a vine. I roll over but can not free my foot. I try to yell for help, but the words will not come out of my throat. I will not allow myself to die here, deep in the jungle, by the spear of King Noah’s soldier. I fight to free myself, clawing at the thing that wraps around me like a blanket. I rip it from my face, and I can breathe once again. Clarity seems to soak back into my consciousness with every breath of cool morning air, and my eyes open.
