Chapter 1: In for a dime…

Daryl stared hard at the cricket he held in his hand. He was crouching beside a fallen tree, waist deep in tall grass, dirt all over his legs and trousers which were ripped off at the knee. He tilted his head to the side to get a better look as it rubbed its legs together making the familiar chirping sound.
"You aren't disgusting enough, sorry lil buddy." He said, more to himself than to the cricket, and he let it hop off as he stood up to his full height. He looked around, assessing the scenery, before taking hold of a large branch and setting off down the hill, through the trees towards the river. He used the stick to smack at hanging reeds and branches as he waded through the grass, always keeping his eyes open for more bugs. The river was fast moving, and ran all the way from the nearby mountains down past the village in the valley, not that you would know it looking from where Daryl was standing due to the density of the surrounding trees. The thought occurred to Daryl as he reached the river bed. Here he was, no one could see him, no one knew he was here, he couldn't see any iconic landmarks to get his bearings, anyone else could easily get lost out here; stumble and forget which way he had come from – or where he was supposed to go…his mother would have a heart attack. That is, if she wasn't already dead.

He crouched down and dipped his hand into the water. It was refreshingly cool, but the trees were providing him enough shelter from the hot sun. Bathing in the river was not necessary. He stood up again, looked right, towards the mountains and hurled the stick he had been carrying as far upstream as he could. For a ten year old he had a good arm and it landed about fifteen metres away. He then waded out into the river and waited for it to come back down. He stood with his legs parted, feet out of the water on two protruding rocks and watched his stick flow through his legs. He turned around and watched it float away downstream, then followed it, allowing his already wet shoes and socks to sink below the water. It wasn't deep, only half way up his bare shin, and although it was fast moving he was well practiced at maintaining his balance.

He followed the river around a few bends, always down on its way to the village below, and on his way he turned over a few rocks always looking for something he could take home. He found nothing of interest. As he walked, his penknife bounced in his pocket against his left leg, a comfort to him. As the river widened and the banks grew further apart, Daryl moved over to the left, to make sure he stayed on his side of the river; it would soon become very difficult to cross. It was also getting deeper, now the tiny peaks that dictated the flow of the river were lapping at the frayed ends of his home-made shorts. It didn't bother him, and he continued until the banks were far enough apart that the sunlight shone through the break in the canopy. He could see the sun, and tell the arch was nearing its end which meant it would be dark soon. He had between two and three hours to return. Plenty of time to get to where he was going, but he still needed a 'gift'. Knowing the river as well he did, he corrected his path a little towards a low hanging branch of a large tree. It hung very conveniently about six foot over the river. If Daryl could find a big enough rock to stand on he could easily reach it and hoist himself up into the tree, and from there he could climb higher until he found something worthy…

With a large boulder in his hands and another stick wedged under his arm, he constructed his path into the tree. The stick could be used to poke living creatures to make sure they weren't too violent. If they were, the penknife could come in handy. He heaved himself up onto the branch and carefully walked along it to the trunk, where he found footing enough to make it a further ten feet up the tree. There he found something perfect. A smile spread across his cheeky face as he brushed a strand of dirty blonde hair out of his eyes and began to crawl out along another, much thinner branch, his penknife in his right hand, stick in his left. The branch wobbled dangerously…but the golden prise was just poking out of a split in the wood.
"Well…in for a dime…" Daryl muttered to himself, and he continued to crawl…

"Daryl, lil brother! Bout time you showed up! Nearly missed your initiation! And we wouldn't want that now, would we?"
Daryl stood on a patch of very slippy moss, craning his neck to look up to his elder brother Merle who was perched on the edge of a dodgy looking plank of wood he called a tree house. Kyle was with him, as was Duncan. The other boys looked disinterested at Daryl's arrival, even though he was soaking wet, bleeding and limping from falling out of the tree. Merle wasn't very high up the tree, an adult could have reached the bottom of the plank on a good jump, but to Daryl it was intimidating enough. He waved at his brother, in an unusually affectionate way, partly to show off the long scrape down his left arm, but mostly to show him the bloodied tarantula that was stuck to the end of his penknife. He was very proud of having been able to kill it. The last person who tried to catch one in this area was bitten and hospitalised. He hadn't even been scratched. Holding the trophy aloft he began to make his way up the tree, Merle watching him with a sinister smile playing about his lips. He was 9 years older than Daryl and his friends were all in their twenties, and he loved very much to benefit from Daryl's longing to be in with the crowd. This was the first time he really got to test his brother's loyalty though. Don't get me wrong, Merle loved his brother, but in his own way.

Daryl panted as he attempted to climb one handed into the tree. It was very difficult due to the shortness of his legs in comparison to his brother and the other boys who usually hung out up here. Kyle himself was about six foot tall, and Duncan was just under that. Daryl was only ten, skinny and barely five foot tall. It would have been tricky enough with both hands, but the tarantula wouldn't fit in his pocket and there was nowhere else to put it – Merle certainly wasn't offering him any help. He wedged his left foot into a small crack in the bark and kicked off from the ground with his right foot, swinging it madly to try and place it on a higher branch whilst reaching out with his free hand to grab a branch that was just low enough for him to reach the end of. He managed to get his foot into position, but missed the branch with his hand and ended up flailing wildly, instinctively wrapping both of his arms around the trunk of the tree to steady himself. Panting hard, heart beating twice its usual pace, he stretched out and grabbed the branch at the base where it joined the tree – the strongest point structurally – and regained his balance, but not his confidence. He was now sweating profusely as he analysed his next step. He cursed below his breath when he realised he needed another hand. Staring at the tarantula, he tried to work out another way…any other way…but there was none. He flipped the penknife so he was holding the blade and put the handle in his mouth. It tasted disgusting, sweat, blood, piss and grit having never been washed. He grimaced, and made eye contact with Merle who was smirking slightly. Kyle and Duncan looked down, watching with mild interest, although they were quickly distracted when one of them put his hand in his pocket and pulled out two rolls and a lighter.
"Dope!" he heard Duncan say and the two laughed in their idiotic, freshly broken voices.

"C'mon lil brother…don't disappoint Merle."

Daryl used both of his hands to pull himself up as high as he could with his feet now not touching anything, and swung his right leg as high as he could, wrapping it around a branch like a monkey, he straightened his back and forced his body higher into the tree. As soon as he had a free hand he took the knife out of his mouth and spat down to the ground. He was now nearly level with Merle. The rest was easy – practically a ladder. He pulled his way up onto the plank of wood and stood, breathing heavily, holding the knife out to his brother, a proud smile on his face.

"I did it! Now…you let me hang…with you guys! Come on! I brought you…something disgusting…something cool…and I made it into your…tree house…and…you said…" he panted, waiting for Merle to congratulate him, or praise him, or look at him at least. But his brother was watching his friends light up. "Merle!" Daryl said as forcefully as he dared. "C'mon man!"
"Y'know lil brother, I don't think you're ready just yet." Merle said, still not looking at Daryl. "C'mon boys, I hear Lindsay's working tonight." He said to his friends. The two boys wooped and catcalled, and the three of them sat on the edge, dangling their legs off the side. Duncan and Kyle launched themselves from the ledge landing ungracefully on the mud before getting up and waving Merle down. Merle looked up at Daryl finally, noticing the tears in his little brothers eyes.
"Here, lemme see that." He said finally, holding out his hand. Daryl gave him the knife. "Yeah, you did alright punk. See y'at home. Don't tell th'old man where I am, you hear me?" Daryl nodded. Merle smiled, then he dropped down off the ledge and kicked Kyle, before the three of them headed off down towards the village. Daryl watched them go, then picked up the knife Merle had left on the floor, and carefully made his way down out of the tree house.