"Why did you stop making Little Bear Cookies later?"
After finishing the Black Spring sigh, Rita finally voiced the question she had been holding back.
Maple Syrup sat atop the mast of Cat's Ideal, her eyes fixed on the distant river of time. The wind tugged at her hair and carried her voice, softening it, making it slightly hard to hear.
"You can just consider it me sobering up."
It was not an answer, not really.
Rita was about to return to the captain's cabin to continue her writing when Maple Syrup's words stopped her in place.
"Let me ask you a question."
"Go ahead," Rita said.
"You said, if Black Spring still existed, would Mud Bears agree to let me turn more Autumn Deer into cookies?"
Rita understood Maple Syrup well enough to know that this was not a question seeking reassurance, nor was it a subtle way of teasing her. It was not about whether Mud Bears might regret not letting her make more cookies earlier.
