Lillian woke just before dawn from a nightmare in which the bears had captured her and were about to cook her up in a big pot in Mother Manan’s kitchen. She’d tangled herself in her blanket. Wrenching her arms free, she sat up to find T.H. sitting on his haunches a few feet away. He studied her with a curious gaze.
“You’re a restless sleeper,” he said.
“I had a bad dream. The bears were cooking me up for supper.”
“I’d be surprised if that hasn’t made you lose your appetite.”
Lillian smiled. “Are you offering to have my share of breakfast?”
“It’s what a friend would do.”
“Maybe, but I’m hungry, so I don’t think so.”
The sun began to rise while they were eating. By the time they were finished, the morning twilight had given way to the sun, so they started back across the mountains.
Eventually they passed the tree where the hunter had been hidden.
“I wonder if he ever got that panther,” Lillian said.
“I doubt that. They’re wily—almost as wily as foxes.”
“And probably not as humble.”
“Probably not,” T.H. agreed.
T.H. told stories along the way, and Lillian taught him some of the songs that she’d learned from Aunt. After the horrible weeks Lillian had spent in LaOursville, the day felt like a special outing.
The time passed quickly, and the distance with it, since much of the trail was downhill. By late afternoon they were back in the familiar hills around Aunt’s farm. They tromped through the marsh to just within sight of the big pine tree that marked the possum witch’s home.