Randall squinted up through the trees, trying to gauge the time, but gave up quickly. He should have paid attention when his father taught the family to read the position of the sun. He should have paid attention, too, before sneaking off this morning on his first solo hike, forgetting the whistle his mother stressed he always bring. He pictured his parents now at their camp beneath the tree with the eagle’s nest, wondering where he was. Randall was wondering the same thing. Lost and out of food, he feared he had but a few hours before darkness closed in, trapping him in the bitter cold with the creatures of the night.

He closed his eyes to fight back tears, when he heard it in the distance. Water! His father’s words came flowing into his mind; one tip he actually remembered. “If you’re ever lost, find a river and follow it.”

In a flash, he was on his feet, scaling fallen trees, tearing through brush, frantically following the sound. The sky grew darker, but the noise grew louder, and Randall, tired and scared, forged ahead until he found it. He reached the river bank and was mulling his next move when a sudden splash caught his eye.

A majestic eagle rose from the water, soaring skyward with a freshly caught fish in its talons. Could it be the same eagle nested above his camp? It glided triumphantly into a high nest a short distance away, eager to greet its family. Randall smiled, equally triumphant, eager to do the same as he followed the eagle’s flight.

In the distance, he saw his mother, his whistle clutched in her hand.

whats the conflict for this?