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That morning, when his daughter awoke, Aron acted
more chipper at the breakfast table. Petal was surprised by
his new demeanor, but she welcomed it. She, too, was
happier.
"You see?" said Aron as he sipped his tea. "Do you see
how easy it is for us to be friends?"
"Yes, Father," said Petal as she nibbled at a muffin.
"Forgive me for my pouting."
"No, no, it is I who must ask for forgiveness. I've been
an ogre."
"Only because you love me. I know that, now."
Aron reached over and patted his daughter's soft, fair
hair, which felt, strangely, a little damp. Again, he gave this
little thought. For the rest of the day, he whistled at his
loom while Petal hummed in her front garden - which,
actually, wasn't growing as well in the constant shade of the
woods as it had in Gateway.
In any case, for all his outward pleasantness, Aron, that
very night, tossed and turned uncomfortably in his bed,
certain once more that his daughter had indeed disappeared
the previous night. And those puddles popped into his mind,
perplexing him.
It was no use. Aron jumped out of bed. He had to check
up on his daughter. But he didn't want her to know, for then
she'd be truly angry at him
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