𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐒

2. Onions, Salads, and the Peanut Gallery

As Lydia passed Beckett their "canteen", a cowbell rang throughout the valleys and hills, a warm golden sound that rolled over the dips of the land, filling the space.

"Dinner!" Beckett tucked the pinecone-hedgehog between his teeth, began to scurry down the tree, then stopped. He looked up at her, a sudden thought occurring, and spat the hedgehog out into his hand. "Are you gonna come?"

"Ah," Lydia rubbed the back of her neck, glancing away. "Should I?"

Beckett shrugged, tucking the hedgehog into his back pocket. "There are so many of us, Mom won't notice. Dad prob'ly won't either."

She glanced to the right, away from the Honeybee farm, where the purple-roofed town clustered. "I don't know if I can..."

"Just come," Beckett said, pulling her hand. "Just for dinner. Then you can go to bed at home."

"I really shouldn't, but I'll walk you down the tree," she smiled, sliding her hand out of his grip. "I've got to go find my grandmother."

"Is she the lady who drove you here?" Beckett slowly lowered himself down to the next branch.

Lydia crashed from limb to limb, pushing leaves out of her way as she skidded down the trunk at precarious speed. "No. That was Mrs. Pomatter. She's nice, but she's pretty lazy."

From below, she helped Beckett to the next leafy bough, holding his arm carefully. "So who's your grandmother?"

"She lives in Wellspring. The town, not the county," Lydia guided Beckett around a knotty branch. "Careful, that one's rotting."

"So you're going back?"

Lydia nodded. "Mhm."

"Do you want to go back?"

Lydia gritted her teeth, squeezing his arm a little tighter. "Mhm."

Beckett, wise for an eight year old, stopped asking questions. He liked quiet anyway.

He hopped down the last branch, landing in the soft dirt, and brushed off his pants. "You're going to come back?"

Lydia hung from a branch, with one arm, dangling like a carefree pirate on the stern of her ship. She swung close to him, the scent of pine and something foreign, salty, washing over him, her brown eyes filling his sight with mocha-coloured twinkles.

She kissed his forehead. "You can bet."

"Are you going to come down?" he looked up at her, head tilted.

"I'm going to climb back up and make sure you get home safe," she pulled herself onto the wide branch, resting on crossed arms. Her foot dangled down like a twitching tail, switching back and forth. "I'll watch you from the skies."

"My lookout?" Beckett was pleased to have someone watch over him. She would see his adventures, and he would be a little speck, a bug-sized explorer.

"Exactly. And you're the adventurer now," she took her bag from him, swinging it up onto a branch. "Here."

She handed him the plastic water bottle and his rolled-up magazines. He tucked the magazines and the "canteen" under one arm.

"Careful when you go back. Don't fall into any muddy places and ruin your magazines," she said, brown eyes winking. "And drink before you're thirsty. Don't wait until you're dying before you have any."

"I will," Beckett tugged his shirt down firmly. "I'll be safe."

"Good," she reached down and smoothed his hair down. "Don't be too long. Your mom must be worried."