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“Injury?” Ryle asks. He’s watching more of our home videos on my tablet, learning words based on the conversations the crew had. “Hurt?” He points to my head. I feel a bump where I was struck, but I‘m basically okay. No concussion.
“Not hurt,” I assure him, but he leans over and brushes his fingers over the lump, anyway. Then he runs his fingers through my hair. I don’t want to think about how greasy it is - there's been no soap or showers on this journey. But he doesn’t seem to notice or mind. “Gaow,” he says. “Nice. Pleasant. Good.”
“You’re a fast learner,” I say, and he beams.
“I learn!”
Wow.
“Good!” I say. “Amazing!”
“Maysee eat.” The turtle smells done. It’s getting black along the edges. Good enough?
“You too,” I say, “Ryle eat too.”
He leans in and kisses my head. “Ryle eat too. More walk. Long walk.” His fingers brush my cheeks. “Yes?”
“Yes,” I sigh. I kind of don’t want to, though. I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the day in this little pocket of a cave with him. Wouldn’t mind it at all.
