THE TINY TRAVEL CLOCK cast just enough of a glow for me to see that it was a little after two in the morning when Moth decided he was a mite peckish, and he’d just have a quick bite of tent before settling back to sleep.
“Cat, I swear to you by all that is holy, this had better be an emergency of ‘Timmy fell down the well and is going to drown in five seconds unless you save him’ importance, or else I will personally see to it that you wear those horns permanently.”
I crawled out of the sleeping bag, too groggy and sleep fuzzed to get a grip on Moth before he managed to squeeze out the tiny opening at the bottom of the tent.
“Oh, for God’s sake . . . fine!” I mumbled, shaking my fist at the gap in the zippered doorway. “Run around by yourself. Get trampled on or run over or picked up by
