I was awoken the following morning, not by the sun, which was quite high in a blue, cloudless sky by the time I became conscious, but by the sound of a girl calling a name.
“Rosamond! Rosamond!”
I opened my eyes as the girl, wearing a simple white dress, decorated with embroidered flowers, and wearing her hair in twin braids, appeared from behind the massive trunk of an ancient tree. I stood up, ready to greet her.
She gasped. “Please don’t hurt me,” she said, her eyes full of fear.
I was a little offended. “I have no intention of hurting you.”
The girl’s expression became friendlier. Her body relaxed, though she kept her distance.
“Who’s Rosamond?” I asked.
At that moment, Reginald leapt from the branches, flinging half a dozen dead leaves into the air as he landed.
The girl screa
