They walked along a narrow path between rustling trees heading to their secret place. The sun was high, fighting off a few scattered clouds. Both knew soon enough they’d leave a bright summer behind.
As he walked on, he felt restless. His bruised eye was getting swollen, which gave him a queer look –like E.T. without a bicycle–. She carried a sharp little pocketknife that nobody would miss at home.
«You were so brave,» she said.
She made four precise cuts in her left hand, enough to depict the initials of his name. Then she showed him her bleeding palm and looked at him knowingly. Feeling blushed but comforted, he did the same. Then they got their hands together –blood with blood– and sealed their covenant with a brief, furtive kiss.
They heard voices and footsteps: they’d been found out. He smiled, lucid. Feeling that he’d follow her to the gates of the very hell.