His reasoning was sound, but his remark about carrying me all the way to the river still rankled. “You speak as if I’m as heavy as an ox,” I said. “Last week I was a bundle of sticks.”“You’re still too thin.”“Perhaps if I gain some weight, you won’t call me a stick anymore.”“You may hope to one day be a branch.”I glanced at him sharply, unable to repress a little flutter of delight that he was bothering to joke with me.“A log, even,” I suggested.“Doubtful,” he said wryly.
-Elly Blake
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