Several apple cores lay on the ground beside me as I blink my eyes open to a suspiciously soundless environment void of human presence.
Last night, Grace Mo went into the cave, bitter about the wild boar. This does not justify this morning's suspicious act.
Somehow, the lady in her white dress soundlessly walked past from the other side of the open area and slowly seeped into her cave.
I get up to prepare breakfast for both of us. The smell of grilled lizards fills the air.
“Good morning, Pierre," Grace gives off an exaggerated yawn as she walks with a morning stretch out of the cave mouth and towards breakfast.
“Good morning," I beam at her in anticipation of her story.
“Breakfast smells delicious," she sniffs, towering over the barbeque. Her dress, being blown by the wind
