That evening, I went to Remi’s cabin. I had so much to tell him, to apologize for, and I didn’t want to waste any more time. He hadn’t returned from the hunt yet, so I retrieved fronds from my cabin and settled at his small table to weave myself a hat.
The darker it got, the sleepier I became, until I eventually set my work aside. I told myself I would rest my head on the table, just for a little while . . .
* * *
Something tickled my nose. I waved my hand to shoo the fly away. It came back to tickle my nose again. I mumbled something to the persistent fly and turned the other way, wrapping my arms around my head. Then I heard snickering.
I opened an eye and peeked out over my elbow toward the sound. Remi was standing there, one of my fronds in his hand. I grunted and sat up, blinking
