Page 1 of Wandering Wild

PROLOGUE

I’ve never feared dying.

Maybe it’s because I’m young, still a teenager, and in perfect health.

Maybe it’s because I know death comes for everyone, and there’s no point dreading the inevitable.

Or maybe it’s simply because I’ve never given much thought to my own mortality, having always viewed it as something to contemplate in the distant future, perhaps during a midlife crisis or some other existential predicament.

Had I known I would soon be lost in the wilderness and freefalling down a colossal waterfall, about to meet my end, I might have given my life—and death—more consideration.

But it’s too late for regrets.

It’s too late for anything .

Because when I finally stop plummeting only to slam into the hard surface of the raging, icy river, I don’t have time to be afraid of what’s coming next. I don’t even have time to mourn everything I’m about to lose, the life I could have had, the dreams I’ll never see come true. All I have time for is a single thought, a single feeling, before everything goes black:

Pain .