Rosie sat on her porch, a frothy nettle milkshake with honey in one hand, a copy of The Awesome Power of Famous Redheads in History in the other. It was nice to have a moment to reflect and relax, a rarity when you are the director of a place like Miss Qiunzella Thiskwin Penniquiqul Thistle Crumpet’s camp for Hardcore Lady-Types.
At any camp, on any occasion, a director is always putting out fires. Rosie hadn’t put out any fires that day, but she was holding a variety of strings and managing many boiling pots and had also spent the morning tracking down a creature that will be of significance later.
A very large creature.
So it was nice, that evening, to have a moment to look at the stars, to sip a beverage, to consider the mysteries of the universe and whatnot. Of course, it was going to be short lived, but it’s important to enjoy these things while you ca—
“Well, this is another fine mess your scouts have gotten into!” said a growly voice from the blackness just beyond the cabin.
“Good evening to you too, you old COOT,” Rosie said, taking a sip of her shake, savoring the nettle-y taste. “Care to expand on that?”
“When I was a director, there was no need to expand on anything.” A set of thick brown paws and a scruffy looking bear face stepped forward from the darkness, toward the porch, transforming in a puff of sparkle into the knobby hands and gnarled face of none other than the figure known as Bearwoman.
Although, as Rosie knew, that wasn’t her actual name.
“Times have changed,” Rosie sighed. “Care to share your concerns?”
“HUMPH, concerns?” Bearwoman pushed her hands onto her hips. “I’m not CONCERNED. I just happened to be out in the woods doing something that’s none of your business, and I noticed a small army of moon moles huffing about in the dark. Lost as usual. I thought you should know, as camp director.”
Moon moles are not known for their sense of direction on land. A moon mole will happily burrow its way through the core of a planet before asking for directions to the store.
Not that a moon mole has any use for a store. They’d rather pillage than buy.
Rosie raised an eyebrow. “Moon moles, you say.”
“Moon moles I DO say,” Bearwoman huffed, glaring from behind the thick panes of her very thick spectacles. “And what do you plan to DO about that?”
Rosie stood up. “I will speak to my scouts.”
“You know that moon moles means more than just moon moles.”
Rosie did know this.
Moon moles are like pancakes and maple syrup, like Jo and April.
One went with the other. In this case, moon moles went with trouble.
“Oh yes,” Rosie said.
“Then I guess you’ve got a handle on it, as usual.” Bear-woman’s voice dripped with what served as sarcasm for a woman who was also a bear.
And with that, Bearwoman stepped back into the darkness and disappeared into the night, leaving Rosie with a problem to solve.
