[Primrose Bolger]

‘Have a care not to burn yourself, old one.’

Kiera’s fingers grasped for the stem and pulled the pipe aloft. She had not meant to startle him with her simple thank-you, but he had stumbled when she spoke, an ember from the bowl tumbling down the fabric of his sleeve. He nodded at her caution and with a quick flick of his fingers sent the ember flying to the ground. She nodded in approval as he moved to grind it out with the toe of his boot.

Both of them settled back into the comfortable embrace of the tree; he on the ground and she above among the leaves. A comfortable silence ensued as the smoke from their pipes rose skyward, broken only by the occasional clatter of each pipe stem as it moved along the edges of their teeth, seeking a more comfortable portion of the lower lip on which to cushion itself.