She passes him and looks back. r face and her ears and, ignoring her sleepy protests, opened her mouth to shine a small pocket-light on her tongue. Then the trail flattens, trees replaced by a forest of battered cattails. I regarded them, trying to be inscrutable, gritting my teeth to keep from bursting into laughter.
“We’ll see,” she said. Now and then I saw an actual person, hanging clothes on a line or riding a bicycle bumpily along a trail. Kitia looked up when the noise erupted. “I finally found you.
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