“How would we have a conversation if we’re asleep?”Corinthia stopped short.“Also, I amnotsleeping in the woods.”
“Not the woods,” Rosemary said, coaxing her onward.“A lovely bed of soft moss and flowers.Remember how I helped you sleep before?”
“Yes—how did you do that, by the way?”
“Stay and find out.”
“Not until you explain to me why sleeping in the woods would be at all helpful.”
“The more time you spend in the forest,” Rosemary said, “the more you will understand.”
“Even asleep?”
“Even asleep.”
Corinthia found herself at the doorway of the green cottage, hidden lights twinkling in the foliage like fireflies, torn between long-established habits of home and the excitement of something new.“I’d have to get up in time to go home and get ready for work,” she said.But it was only a few hours until daylight, anyway.Beaufort would be sleeping peacefully, dreaming doggy dreams.The practicalities were a permission slip, and Corinthia knew it, but she pursued them anyway because practicalities brought familiarity and comfort to new situations.“You really think it will help?”
“Yes,” Rosemary replied, very seriously.
Above them, the sky grumbled, and sent its warning shot in the form of scattered raindrops.The lightning seemed closer than before, as if the weather itself would make the decision on Corinthia’s behalf.
Who said nature didn’t have a sense of humor?
“I have to inspect the bed,” Corinthia said, brushing raindrops from her hair.“I’m very particular.”
Rosemary hurried inside and Corinthia followed.
“For your approval,” Rosemary said, patting the green, fluffy surface of the bed.“One-hundred-percent pure, dry moss, over an elevated support surface of entwined branches, and finished with accents of dried herbs and flowers.”
“You sound like a mattress ad.”
“I watch TV from back fences, remember?”
“Hmph,” Corinthia said.“Blankets?”
Rosemary reached into a cubby Corinthia hadn’t noticed before.She fished out a large, thick tartan blanket.“Ta-da!”
“That is not a magic forest blanket.You stole that.”
“I borrowed it.”
“From a laundry line.”
“And a very nice laundry line it was, too.I’ll put it back,” Rosemary said, spreading it over the bed and folding back one edge.“Someday.”
Corinthia snorted.
“Lie down,” Rosemary said.
“For a bird, you’re very commanding.”
“Scrub jays are bossy.”Rosemary steered her to sit.
Corinthia allowed herself to be directed, pausing only to remove her shoes.She reclined on the moss, which was heaped up at one end for a pillow-like effect, and immediately her nose filled with the herbal scent.
Rosemary covered her with the blanket.She placed her indigo straw hat on the living bedpost, then carefully crawled into bed beside Corinthia.The bed was small enough so that Corinthia’s hip pressed softly against Rosemary’s.
Rosemary brought her hand up and delicately stroked Corinthia’s forehead and temples.
