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Sassy had given up completely on her mop of curls. So matted and tangled were they that not even her attempt to use her stubby fingers to pry apart the knots was of any use. With a sigh she pulled out one of the large checkered napkins she’d brought the cookies in and folding it into as neat a triangle as she could, tied it round her head and behind her ears like a little bandana. At least any straggling curls would be kept out of her face, she thought.
She heard voices at the far edge of their rough little camp and stood up, wondering who was talking. It was barely first light; the moon had not yet set, and darkness still covered much of the area. The mists were rising from the ground as the sun's light crept just to the horizon, making it hard to see clearly in the still dark distance. Sassy shivered in the chill morning air. Her little cloak was stiff with dirt and the rips in it let the cold seep through. She stamped her feet as she picked up her pack and slung it on her back. Moving a little closer to the source of the voices, she was delighted to learn that Reggie had abandoned that mean boy, Falco, and come back to their little group. She could see Bingo looking at him fondly at him, relieved to have his brother back. ‘I wish I was born a boy,’ she thought to herself, looking wistfully at the two. ‘Then maybe Sondo would like me better.’ She waved at Reggie when he glanced toward her, and was about to go up and greet him. But someone else had beat her to it, and so she turned away.
With a resigned little sigh, she turned back to where she’d been sleeping. In a small copse of ash and oak, a little ways away from their camp, she’d set her traps. Her hopes were dim that she’d find anything . . . there had been nothing caught for a number of days. But her luck had shifted it seemed, last night, and there were two fine, fat coneys caught in the rope loops, their necks broken. She took them down and wound up the loop rope traps, stuffing them securely into one of her pack pockets. The coneys she slung over her back and made her way as quickly as she could back to camp.
Everyone it seemed was gathered about the returned Reggie. So, her own return remained unnoticed, if indeed anyone had even noticed she had been gone. Shrugging off her ‘left out’ feelings, she concentrated on getting a little fire going. And once done, she skinned and gutted the well fed, if unfortunate, coneys; spitted them each on thin, ash tree branches she’d brought back from the little thicket; and set them to roasting over the small fire.
Sassy sat near the fire to tend the spits. She sniffed appreciatively as the heat cooked the meat. ‘If we quarter them,’ she thought, her tummy growling, ‘there’ll be a good sized chunk for everyone and a bit more.’ She snorted, thinking how Falco would not get a bit of her coneys. Sassy could just hear her Gammer saying how it was best to be kind even to those who spited you. But she just didn’t feel very kind at the moment . . . only very hungry and glad there would someone’s portion for the rest of them to share.
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