Chapter 42 - The Dry Season
But nature is an unpredictable, terrifying force.
The following summer brought a drought unlike anything the valley had seen in three decades. The sun beat down relentlessly, baking the earth until it cracked. The river, legally protected by the sovereign seal on Mateo’s wrist, still flowed, but the surrounding mountains grew dangerously dry and brittle.
Mateo stood on the back porch, looking up at the high ridge that bordered their valley.
"The brush up there is pure kindling,"
Mateo murmured, his brow furrowed in deep concern.
"It hasn't rained a single drop in forty days,"
Clara agreed, handing him a glass of iced tea.
"Who owns that upper ridge now?"
Ramón asked, stepping out onto the porch, his eyes following Mateo’s gaze toward the yellowed, dying pine trees on the mountain.
"A corporate timber syndicate called Ironwood Logging,"
May you like
Mateo replied, his jaw clenching.
"They bought it at a state auction last year. They were supposed to clear the dead underbrush as part of the fire prevention mandate, but they haven't touched it. They are cutting corners to save money."
