MANY DAYS LATER

We began to be disheartened. Monique and I had been following my crew for days and days. And rather than getting closer, we were falling behind. While they paddled in a straight line, we had many more twisty, turny miles of shoreline to negotiate.

After another day of leaping, jumping, skittering, scampering, climbing, clambering, and flinging ourselves through space, Monique and I sat with our sad heads in our sad paws.

Gray clouds had swallowed up the sun. A breeze kicked the water into restless whitecaps. The waves lapped sadly against the rocky shoreline. The smell of cool water, cold nights, crisp leaves, and fallen pine needles was heavy on the air.

“Fall is coming,” Monique said.

“Indeed,” I agreed, shivering.

“Dear Le Rouge,” Monique said, “we are falling behind. We shall never apprehend them at this rate.”

“We must think of something.”

“Monsieur, you are a little bit nutty, but I love you anyway.”

My heart stopped. What did she say? Love?

“But, mademoiselle,” I said, “here I am, far from home, a miserable failure. I failed at being a voyageur. I failed at convincing the voyageurs the error of their ways. I would have been willing to go home, tail between my legs, a failure. But I failed even at that! I had intended, when I left home, to explore the unexplored, discover the undiscovered, taste the untasted.”

“But you have done all that!” Monique protested. “You discovered me. We have explored all along these wild shores, and could explore them more if we slowed down a little. And as for tasting the untasted, try this.”

She popped a very tasty something into my mouth—a little nutty, a little fruity, a little salty, a little sweet.

“What was that?” I asked. “I have never tasted anything like it!”

“Now you have tasted the untasted,” she said. “Perhaps you should be satisfied.”

But I was not.