A mantle of fog covered the entire eastern expanse of water. Only the gentle wavelets flowing, curling, and ebbing along the pebbled shore could be seen. The noon sun was an orb of palest yellow. Hank observed how its diffused light shone in the twinkling sprinkles of mist. At play above the Douglas firs nearest the cabin were rainbow colors. This simple majesty lifted his heart.
The gazebo was visible as he drew within twenty yards of it. He heard two women laughing gaily and talking exuberantly. He crept within earshot.
Bernice: "Am I from around here? I was born in yon cabin!"
Ling: "Ah so."
Bernice: "It was quite a show."
Ling: "Who's that?"
Bernce: "Excuse me?"
Ling: "Over there. Watching us."
Bernice: "Not sure. A Kwakiutle savage perhaps."
Ling hollered, "HEY!"
Knowing he had been spotted, Hank bellowed, "Hello to camp!"
Bernice: "My Da. You'll love him."
Ling: "Evidently stagecraft runs in the family."
Hank strode forth. His bare chest and firm belly awash with henna tattoos. His illustrated face full of artistic expression.
"Howdy, young ladies."
In mock distress, Ling asked: "Are you going to eat us?"
"Won't know until it starts."
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