Chapter Twenty-Three
“Spoonbills are the brightest birds on the island.”
Alfred followed Hilary through the tall grasses, a sack on his back and a walking stick in his hand. Despite Hilary’s knobby knees and permanently bent spine, he moved along the shore of Offat’s Bayou with ease. Alfred chocked it up to a hardy memory of where to step and when to shift his weight because, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite keep pace and kept slipping into muddy puddles that Hilary managed to avoid.
“This should work.”
Alfred pulled out a thin blanket from his sack and fluffed it in the air to spread it out before settling it along a section of shorter grass. Hilary pulled out a compact piece of wood that he began unfolding, popping corners against each other until three legs came togeth
