"Finn came." Even as she uttered the words, she gripped a blade of whistlegrass between thumbs, feigning a musician's focus. She brought the contrived instrument to her mouth, peered timidly over her clutched fists, fearful of the shep's disapproval.
But his eyes rested on the grazing flock. His slim brown arms perched on brown, knobbly knees, and a stalk of sweet-grass dangled from his mouth, which, upon closer scrutiny, appeared to be faintly smiling.
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she charged ahead. "He taught me."
His grin grew, full-blown and dimplish, chased by infectious laughter. "I knew he would."
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