As the three escapees had begun to spend nights under the stars since their departure, they had begun to get used to the superficial comfort of their bivouac. A carpet of dry heart-shaped leaves easily replaced the warmest of mattresses. A mound of earth served as a pillow. The nights were cool, even in this season, but curling up under branches with thick foliage, they avoided awakening too wet.
In the early morning, Adam squinted at the still-smoking remains of the duck carcass.
“Shame you didn’t steal eggs, Roland. An omelette for breakfast would have been perfect.”
“You can go back there if you want. Maybe the farmers are waiting for you with a pot of hot coffee.”
“No, thank you.”
Erma picked up the more substantial bones and threw them to Scram, who was pleased not to waste them.
